Lone Hawk and Tin Man
by Khell
Summary: Not a real story - just random scenes, mainly focussing on Hawkeye and Tony Stark, but featuring the other Avengers, too. Rating due to some of the language those two guys use. Disclaimer: I don't own any of those chaps - or gals - but I do love them to pieces.
1. Circus Boy

**Circus Boy**

Tony noticed it by mere accident. He was walking along the corridor past his fellow Avengers' rooms. He needed to talk to Banner about some whacky theory that had come to him this morning when he still had been half asleep. It was past noon now and after a few hours of pondering and prodding it, it didn't seem so whacky anymore. He still wanted a second opinion.

Banner had chosen the room farthest away from the others. Probably still didn't trust his anger management capabilities.

While walking down the corridor, Tony listened to the sounds that told him the others had settled in. 50s music from Rogers' room. The guy was trying to catch up with today, obviously. Some kind of – something from Romanoff's.

Tony stopped and listened more closely.

Chinese? Sounded like Chinese to him. Well, whatever. He continued to Banner's room. Only when he had almost reached it did he notice something was missing. He frowned. Turned around. Walked down the corridor once more, the other way. Romanoff. Rogers. And back again. Rogers. Romanoff.

Ah-ha.

Tony stopped before yet another door.

"Jarvis," he asked, "is Agent Barton in?"

"Yes, sir. In his room."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, he might have gone out and placed a Life Model Decoy in his room but that is highly unlikely, sir."

Tony had been asking because the room behind the door lay in absolute silence. No music. No TV. Nothing. It made him wonder what was going on in there. So he knocked and entered.

Barton looked up from where he was sitting on the floor Indian style. The parts of his bow lay scattered around him. As far as those few parts could scatter.

One of them and a greasy rag were currently in Barton's hands.

Tony did a quick inventory of the room.

Shelves – empty. Closet – ditto. He could tell because the door was half open. Quiver with arrows next to the bed. Gun on the nightstand, well within reach of the bed. Probably a knife under the pillow, Tony guessed.

On the other side of the bed, he spotted the bag Barton had been carrying the day he had moved in. That had been a good two weeks ago. It was still packed.

He noticed Barton following his gaze.

"Looking for something?" the archer asked.

"Uh, yeah. Green guy, big, mean-tempered."

Barton raised his eyebrows in amusement.  
"Well, he's not hiding in my closet but if you wanna check under the bed …"

Tony looked at it. It was one of those beds that used the space between floor and mattress for drawers.  
"Unless he's gone Mini-Hulk …"

Barton shrugged.  
"Then, obviously, he's not here."

"Obviously. Thanks."

Tony turned to leave. As he did so, Barton's bag crossed his field of vision again. For a moment, he was tempted to ask. Drop a remark along the lines of "always ready to get going" or something. But then, he didn't.

* * *

He kept watching Barton, though. The man seemed to blend in with their strange group just fine. Meaning that he didn't go out of his way to avoid the others and didn't stick out like a sore thumb. He was easy enough to talk to, even cracked a quip here and there that made Rogers roll his eyes and Tony grin in approval. But on the whole, he seemed a little – detached. At least, to Tony. And blending in a little too well.

Might be a spy thing, Tony decided.

Maybe not, though.

Another thing he noticed was Barton's tendency to perch instead of sitting. Be it a chair – he usually preferred perching on its back with his feet on the seat – a couch – same there – the stools by the kitchen counter or one of the ledges outside. He could spend hours out there just watching – Tony wasn't sure what he was actually doing out there. Watching the reconstruction of the damaged and destroyed buildings? Scanning the area for possible attackers? Hatching an egg?

He always perched dangerously close to the edge. After realizing that, Tony had Jarvis keep the Mark VII on stand-by at all times and always wore the corresponding bracelets. Not that he thought Barton might suddenly develop suicidal tendencies after being mind-controlled into killing his own people or something like that. But accidents did happen and if he really should lose his balance and fall, Tony wanted to be ready to go after him.

Well, he'd try.

Probably would be too late, but still –

* * *

It was several days after that moment in Barton's room when Natasha caught Tony watching her partner who, once again, was outside and as high up as he could get.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

Tony shook his head.  
"No. Just thinking."

She didn't buy it. Of course not, she'd probably been trained to detect when someone was lying to her.

A thought struck him. He looked at her, then Barton.

Those two were working together. They most likely knew each other very well. He could just ask her. Of course she might glare at him and tell him it was none of his business. Or punch him in the face and leave.

He decided to take the risk. Better than dying of curiousity.

"You two – how long have you been working together?" he asked.

"Quite a while. Ever since Clint brought me in to SHIELD instead of killing me."  
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.  
"If that's another attempt to guess my age –"

Tony waved it off.  
"Found out about that weeks ago when I hacked into SHIELD's mainframe."  
He ignored her glare and went on: "So you'd say you know him quite well?"

"I know all that I need to know. All that matters."  
The look in her eyes changed from suspicion to wariness.  
"Why do you ask?"

Tony shrugged.  
"Just wondering."

It had been a bad idea. He didn't know what exactly he had said but Natasha suddenly moved in on him like a hunter on his prey and was only inches away from him with a look on her face that told him he was about to lose at least a limb, maybe even his head.

"If this is about Loki getting into his mind and forcing him to help him, I can assure you –"

"No!" Tony cut her off, surprised.

The thought that Barton might go over to the other side again at some point hadn't crossed his mind until now. This was about the man's behavior. It puzzled him. And being Tony Stark, whenever he was met with a puzzle, he tried to solve it.

"Then why have you been watching him?" Natasha demanded.

She still was in full attack-mode, ready to defend her partner. It spoke volumes, Tony thought. Not of Barton, unfortunately, but of her.

"Don't deny it", she pushed on. "I noticed and he did, too."

"Whoa, easy!"  
Tony raised his hands and took a step back.  
"I'm just curious, okay? A few days ago, I was in his room, looking for Banner and – well –"

Natasha relaxed and backed off a little. She even gave him a slightly amused look. He knew she didn't buy the thing about Banner.

"He hasn't unpacked his stuff, yet, and the room …"  
Tony grimaced.  
"A padded cell in the local nuthouse got a more personal touch. It's as if he's ready to leave at a moment's notice."

"We're still SHIELD agents. We're being sent on missions. Sometimes, we have to leave at a moment's notice."

"Yeah, but right now, you're both on leave. And besides, your room doesn't look like that", Tony pointed out. "It looks –"

He recalled the small collection of firearms, knives and other weapons that took up one entire wall of Natasha's room. And she seemed to prefer black. Most definitely.

"- intimidating", he finished.

Natasha shrugged.  
"That's Clint. He just likes it that way. His room at SHIELD headquarters looks the same." She frowned. "Granted, he does put his clothes in his locker but except for that –"

"And you don't think that's odd?"

Her eyes narrowed again.  
"Above all, I think it's none of your business."

"Geez, Tasha –"  
Tony sighed.  
"I'm not trying to pry. I'm just trying to figure that guy out. Right now, I can't. We're on the same team, after all, and will be for some time. He's blending in alright but –"

"He's part of the group but not really part of it", she said.

"Yes, and I'm wondering why because it isn't like we've been giving him hell about what he did. He couldn't help it – he wasn't himself. We all know that."

Natasha gave him a long piercing look. She turned away, towards the window, to gaze out at Barton.

It took her a while to make up her mind.

"He once told me that, once you've been through five foster families and five states in just as many years, you learn not to become too attached to anything. Or anyone", she said slowly.

"Foster care, huh? That really sucks. You know how old he was when –"  
Tony made a vague gesture.

Natasha frowned in thought.  
"Six, I think."

"And then?" Tony asked. "I mean after all the foster homes. He got adopted?"

"No. He ran away with a circus."

"Yeah, right."  
Tony was about to laugh when he realized she was serious.  
"Circus?"

She didn't even blink.

His eyebrows shot up right to his hairline.  
"Circus. Alright."

Natasha turned to leave  
"Yes. What do you think where he learned to shoot like that?" she asked back over her shoulder.

Tony frowned.  
"Dunno. Sherwood Forest?"

She did punch him for that – but not too hard.


	2. Coffee and Cereals

Wow! Ok ... I didn't think I'd get quite so much feedback - favourites, followings, reviews - for just that first chapter. Yay! *beaming* Thanks, people! Glad you like this!

Short note: I got a certain number of scenes written and will try posting them here more or less regularly. After I'm done with those, it'll take me a while to add new stuff. Since it's not a "classic" story, there'll be more new stuff as long as new stuff keeps popping up in my mind. ;)**  
**

* * *

**Coffee And Cereals**

It was around six in the morning when Tony stumbled into the kitchen. He'd been cooped up in his workshop all night long and now, he needed coffee. Lots of coffee. Cos in two hours, he was supposed to attend a meeting at Stark Industries. By then, he had to at least appear sane enough not to piss off the stockholders. Pepper would do most of the talking. He only needed to stay awake and that was why he needed coffee.

He hadn't been expecting to meet anyone else here that early and so he stopped dead in his tracks when he became aware of someone perching on one of the stools by the counter.

"Jarvis, lights", he said.

Promptly, the lights came on.

"Gah!"  
Tony tried to block out the sudden brightness with his arm.  
"Jarvis!"

He blinked several times until his eyes had adjusted to the light, then turned to the person on the stool again.

Barton. And a bowl of breakfast cereals that he was happily munching. He seemed completely unperturbed by the light.

Which didn't help to put Tony in a better mood. He knew he was probably looking like a raccoon, with dark circles under his eyes. And that his hair would be sticking out at odd angles. It always did.

He thought he saw a slight smirk on the archer's face.

He mumbled something unintelligible and shuffled over to the coffee maker only to discover someone had already made coffee and that it was still hot.

Two large mugs of coffee later – and god, it was really good – he felt much more like himself.

He looked over to Barton who was still busy finishing off his cereals.

"So – circus, huh?" Tony said, casually leaning against the counter.

Barton glanced at him and nodded.  
"Yup."

Tony grinned.  
"Must have been a dream come true. I mean – who doesn't dream of running away from boring old home and join a circus?"

A shadow seemed to pass over Barton's features. It was gone so quickly, though, that Tony wasn't quite sure whether he had really seen it.  
"It was – okay. Nice while it lasted."

Barton put away his spoon and lifted his bowl to drink the milk in it.

Tony watched him. The man seemed completely unaffected.

He wasn't, though. Tony was sure of that. He might be an idiot, sometimes – alright, most of the time – and a complete jerk, refusing to take things more seriously than they should be taken. That didn't mean that he was stupid. He was perfectly capable of reading between the lines. Genius, right?

Alright, so when it came to Barton, it was more like filling in the blanks than reading between the lines but being a genius also required being able to use your imagination. So, what did he know?

Tony leaned back against the counter, slowly sipping his coffee.

Five foster homes in just as many years. Obviously, none of those folks had wanted to keep little Clint – which meant that either, the guy had been a worse terror than Dennis the Menace or those people had been jerks.

Then the circus. Just as obviously, that hadn't worked out, either, or Barton would probably still be swinging from a trapeze upside down and doing trick shots for the audience instead of sniping bad guys for SHIELD.

He didn't know what had happened between the circus and SHIELD but he was pretty sure it had followed much the same pattern. Nice while it lasted but after a while, it had ended and Barton had moved on.

No wonder the man was trying to keep his distance.

Having finished his breakfast, the archer slid off his stool. He rinsed his bowl and spoon, dried them and put them away. He turned to leave.

Suddenly, Tony felt the urge to say something – reassuring or so. He later blamed the lack of sleep for it.

"This is gonna work, you know?" he said. "This here, I mean. It's gonna last."

Barton stopped but didn't turn.  
"Nothing lasts forever, Stark."

"I never said it would last forever. But it'll last for a very long time."

Barton gave a huff that could or could not have been a laugh.  
"And how do you want to know?"  
He half turned. Tony thought he detected a hardness in his eyes that he'd never seen before.  
"People die. Friendships end. Groups split up. That's just the way life goes."

There was a slight edge to his voice, too.

"Not necessarily", Tony pointed out.

Barton only shook his head and made his exit.

Tony took another sip from his third mug of coffee.

Patience wasn't really his forte but it did look like he would have to be patient with this one.


	3. Nothing Lasts Forever

**Nothing Lasts Forever**

"This is gonna last."

Stark's words rang in Clint's mind as he strode away from the kitchen.

"Yeah, sure", he muttered under his breath.

That guy had no idea. Nothing ever lasted, no matter how much you might wish it would. The only thing you could do was go with the flow as long as it lasted and not let anything – or anyone – get too close to you. Because, one day sooner or later, it would all be gone. So better not to get attached than have to deal with the loss, right?

Clint slowed down.

_And what about Tasha?_ a soft voice whispered in his mind.

They were pretty close, weren't they?

No, not close, he corrected himself. They knew each other very well – on a purely professional level. They had to, in a job like that. If things went wrong, on a mission, he had to know exactly what she would do so he could still cover her back.

He was very well aware of the fact that, one day, she might go on one of her solo-missions and not come back. It was a risk that came with the job. It was just the same for him.

Just look at Coulson. A few days ago, he had still been – well, handling things as he always had. Admonished Clint to be nice to Selvig. And now, he was dead because he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because he had got it in his head to confront Loki without back-up.

And Stark thought this was gonna last.

Yes, alright, they had proven they could work as a team. This whole Avengers Initiative could work. Maybe. If they managed to put their egos aside. But at some point in the near or far future, it would end. They would all go their separate ways. Probably sooner than later, once Stark got bored of this and kicked them out of his tower again. You never knew what those rich guys got into their heads.

Fact was: He'd be a fool if he took this for anything else than a temporary arrangement, so he wouldn't.


	4. Of Cats and Hawks

Right, only a short one tonight since I got home late. Enjoy!**  
**

* * *

**Of Cats and Hawks**

"Hey, Kat, what's up?"

Tony leaned on the back of the couch Barton was for once not perching but lounging on and watching a movie. Most recently, he'd taken to calling the archer Kat – short for Katniss.

"What happened to Legolas?" Barton had asked at that time.

Tony had raised his eyebrows feigning surprise.  
"Didn't you hear? Took a ship into the west and disappeared."

Barton had glared at him.

He didn't glare now but rather sighed and shook his head.  
"Y'know, I'd have thought, with you being such a genius and all, you'd have figured it out by now. I'm not Kat – I'm Hawk."

Tony grinned.  
"Kat, Hawk – what's the big difference?"

"Easy. Cat: cute and furry, four paws, likes to smooch up to you. Hawk: feathers, beak, talons, will peck your eyes out if you call him Kat one more time."

There it was, that glare that probably could cut through ten inch steel plates. Second only to Natasha's infamous Glare of Death.

"Okay, okay!"  
Tony backed off raising his hands, his grin growing broader.  
"No more Kat."

Barton let his glare linger for a moment, then returned his attention to his movie where a maniac with a mask and chainsaw was getting ready to slaughter a screaming blonde.

Tony watched for a while before he spoke again  
"So, watcha watching, Will?"

Barton again turned his head, this time to frown at him.

"Will?" he asked.

"Tell. William Tell. Will." Tony, too, frowned. "More of a threat than a name if you ask me – I mean, Will Tell? C'mon! - but I like the alliteration."

Barton shook his head. He looked like he didn't quite believe it.  
"You really do have a death wish, Stark, dontcha?"

The grin re-appeared on Tony's face.  
"Anything to keep life interesting."


	5. Some Things Go Wrong

**Some Things Go Wrong …**

It had gone wrong. Everything had gone wrong but at least, Stark had got away.

He, however, was caught.

Clint winced and tried to turn his head away from the glaring, bright light.

Everything was in a blur.

Someone hit him in the face, then grabbed his jaw and forced him to look at the light.

His side hurt. His arms hurt, too. His wrists. Because they had been tied together behind his back for – two days? Three? A week? He didn't know. He was surprised, actually, that he could still feel them.

There was the voice again, behind the light, asking questions he didn't quite understand because he didn't speak that goddamn language that freak was using.

He laughed. It sounded rough and strange.

He knew what they were doing. They were always using drugs, first. Probably thought they would get answers the easy way. He wasn't quite sure whether the blurring was an effect of something they had given him, though, or that blow to the head he had suffered when they had captured him. It was still hurting slightly.

Drugs, thus. And a bit of hitting and punching. All part of this stage. Once they realized their drugs wouldn't work, the torture would start in earnest.

He was hit again, harder this time.

His head snapped back. He tasted blood.

"We have your friend, Agent Barton", the voice behind the light said.

Heavy accent. Something eastern that he couldn't place.

Clint spit out a mouthful of blood  
"No, you don't."  
He smirked.  
"Got no friends, so –"

Another blow.

"Very funny. We have Stark, then, and unless –"

"Bullshit", Clint cut off the voice. "If you had him, you'd already be torturing him, right here, to make me talk."

The voice said something he didn't understand. He was punched again. If they went on like this, he thought to himself, he might lose a few teeth before he managed to get out of here.

Someone stepped behind his chair, seized his head and pulled it back and to the left so that is neck lay exposed. From the corner of his eye, he saw the light catch on something. A needle was stabbed into his neck. He gritted his teeth but still hissed in pain when they injected him with something that felt like liquid fire.

They yanked the needle out again and let go of him. Clint blinked a few times and shook his head. Whatever they had given him, it already seemed to start working. Everything around him grew fuzzier, the glaring light softer.

"This is your last chance to do this the easy way, Agent Barton", the voice said.

"Fuck you!" Clint spat.

If they wanted him to talk, they better – they better –

He tried to hold on to that train of thought but it slipped away.

Someone stepped in front of the light. A dark, featureless silhouette. A hand reached forward, pulling back his eyelid. He twisted away.

More words spoken in that language he didn't understand. He should have tried harder to learn all those East-European languages. Tasha had said it might be a good idea and when she said that, it usually was.

Oh, wait. Hadn't she also said it was a bad idea to send him and Stark on a mission together?

_There you go – right again._

On some level, he was aware that it was the drug but he couldn't help it. It was funny as hell. He started to chuckle.

"What are you laughing about?" the voice asked.

Clint almost told the guy. He remembered just in time that he wasn't supposed to tell him anything. He had forgotten why, though.

"Not your business", he said.

And that was funny, too, because now, he had his own little joke all to himself and that other guy wasn't allowed to know because it was _his_ joke.

_You're losing it, Barton,_ a sharp voice cut through his thoughts. _Pull yourself together, dammit!_

He knew that voice. It was the voice that told him what to do when he didn't know what to do. He always did what it told him – it was always right, just like Tasha.

_Focus!_

This wasn't the first time he was captured by the enemy and drugged. He knew how to fight the drugs. He –

Someone slapped his face, hard. It stung.

_Pain. Right. That's how._

Clint blinked. He could fight the drugs if he hurt himself. And he could do that by –

He silently counted to three, then he flung himself sideways. A flash of pain shot through him when he hit the floor with his injured side, tearing the cobwebs that had been wrapping around his mind. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. The good thing was – he couldn't scream, either.

"Alright", the voice said. "Have it your way."

Two pairs of heavy black army-style boots appeared in his field of vision. The first kick landed square in his stomach. It knocked the breath from his lungs again and almost made him throw up. He tried to curl up as best as he could to protect his head and injured side but it didn't work all too well. With his arms tied behind his back, he couldn't properly block the kicks.

Just before he passed out, he thought he heard the characteristic whine of Stark's repulsors. But that was impossible, right?


	6. And Others Go Right

Yeah, I know. Not the most imaginative chapter titles, recently. Well, they'll get better again, soon. Promise. I guess they don't really matter, either, as long as the chapters them selves are good, right? ;)

Thanks for all the favourites! This is my most-favourited and most-followed story, so far. Yay!

* * *

… **And Others Go Right**

Tony leaned against the wall next to the door, arms folded across his chest, and watched Barton sleep. The archer lay on his side. His breathing was shallow but even. Tony had tried to check out his injuries as soon as they had landed in the dilapidated building he had chosen as their hideout. The bruises had been easy enough to see. There was a pretty large one on Barton's left side – the side he was now resting on. Tony suspected he had broken some bones. At least one rib, judging from how Barton had winced when he had touched that particular spot. Maybe a concussion, too. Just as Tony had arrived on the scene, one of those thugs had scored a kick to Barton's head.

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to let him sleep, Tony mused. But they had almost half a day until they had to be at the rendezvous point. And sleeping Barton was better than merrily babbling Barton. Tony hoped that, by the time he woke up, the effects of whatever drugs they had given him would have worn off. He really, really hoped so because some of the stuff Barton had rambled on about had been kinda – disturbing. He had already suspected that the archer's childhood had been less than ideal, but actually hearing it from the man himself was something completely different. Judging from what Barton had said, Tony's own botched childhood seemed like paradise.

The archer frowned and murmured something.

Tony wondered if he was dreaming of the bible-nuts he had mentioned. He pushed off of the wall and went over to the window to peek out.

He had chosen this location carefully. It wasn't anywhere near the building where they had kept Barton prisoner, it was easy to defend in case they were found and since it lay on the outskirts of the town, the rendezvous point wasn't too far away. Even Barton should be able to get there.

He hadn't called in with SHIELD. The way in which their mission had gone wrong indicated there was a leak, so he had contacted his fellow Avengers directly. Steve had listened, had asked when and where they could be picked up and whether Tony needed help rescuing Barton. Now, their Quinjet was on its way. Steve had insisted they keep radio silence – just in case that whoever had leaked information on the mission was also tapping into their communications.

Tony had to admit he was glad the others were coming to the rescue. Of course, he could have got away on his own, a few days ago. But that would have meant leaving Barton behind and that was something he just wouldn't do. Not one of his teammates.

The archer moved in his sleep again. His frown deepened. He mumbled something again – this time, Tony thought he could discern a "no".

Suddenly, Barton sat up, his eyes wide open, breath coming in short, shallow gasps. His eyes darted around the room as if he were looking for something. His gaze locked on Tony. Or, to be exact, the chest piece of his suit.

He gestured at him.  
"Can you –" he gasped.

"Come over? Sure."

Tony quickly moved to him and knelt beside him. Barton seized him by the shoulders and held him fast while turning his head this way and that. Tony realized he was checking out his reflection and laughed.

"Easy, buddy. Your pretty face is still intact", he said.

Barton looked at him. He caught the shortest glimpse of panic in the archer's eyes before the man had himself back under control. He let go of Tony and sank back to the floor, closing his eyes again.

"Where are we?" he whispered.

So the drugs seemed to have worn off indeed, at least enough to have him think coherently again.

"Safe, for now", Tony told him. "You okay?"

Barton nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Swell", he said. "Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic.  
He blinked.  
"So, where are we? Safe house?"

Tony shook his head.  
"I found something else. The safe house might have been compromised."

Barton glanced up at him.  
"Smart."

He tried to sit up again.

Tony put a hand on his chest to keep him down.

"Better stay put", he said. "We still got a few hours until the others come to pick us up."

He took it as a sign of the archer's exhaustion that he didn't argue.

"You wake me up?" Barton asked.

Tony grinned.  
"No, I'll let you sleep and carry you all the way, sweetheart."

Barton glared at him, then turned on his side and closed his eyes.

"You sure no one followed us?" he asked, his voice heavy with fatigue.

"Don't worry, I got us covered", Tony told him.

He didn't know if Barton heard him – he was asleep again already.

Tony returned to the window.

He had placed sensors all around the building – he had wanted to test them under real-life conditions for some time. If anyone approached the building, he would have enough of a warning to wake Barton and get him away from here.

It took another hour or so before Tony finally got it. Barton hadn't been checking his face, in his chest piece. He had been checking out his eyes.


	7. The Great Escape

And here's another one - completing the "Some Things Go Wrong" Mini-"Trilogy" ... ;) The next chapter might be delayed a little. I'm just working on it. Hope I'll finish it in time to post it tomorrow.**  
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* * *

**The Great Escape**

Clint moved through the dusk as fast and silently as he could. Which wasn't very fast because every single breath he took felt like someone was stabbing him with a knife and twisting it in the wound.

He knew that feeling. A broken rib, maybe several.

He stopped and leaned against a wall, trying to melt into the shadows. Stark was scouting ahead to see if the coast was clear. It was possible, after all, that the enemy had been watching them and waiting for them to come out in the open. Out here, they didn't stand much of a chance if they got into a fight – not with Hawkeye injured and without his bow and arrows and Ironman almost out of power.

Stark peeked around a corner several yards ahead and waved him to follow. Clint closed the distance between them.

"We're almost there", Stark whispered. "The last few yards will get tricky, though. It's open field. No cover."

Clint had noticed they were approaching the edge of town.

"Then that's where they'll attack", he whispered back.

"If they attack."

"Oh, they will. They won't let us get away just like that."

Stark gave a nod.  
"Better be careful, then."

* * *

As it turned out, Clint was right.

The Quinjet landed just as they arrived near the rendezvous point. They were both cowering behind a pile of rubble. Stark wanted to move but Clint held him back.

"Wait."

"What is it?"

Clint frowned.  
"Not sure. I thought I heard something."

A sound that didn't belong here. Very faint. He wasn't quite sure, actually, whether he hadn't just imagined it. The pain in his side was distracting him.

"Okay."  
Stark cast a glance around.  
"I can't see anything but better be careful. I'll go first – this suit can take a hit or two from a gun. I'll cover your back and you run for it."

Clint laughed – and winced. Not a smart thing to do with a bust rib.  
"I'm not sure if I can run."

"Well, you have to cos I won't be able to keep them at bay for very long. I'm running on emergency power here."

Clint nodded.  
"I'll have to try, then."

"Right. You ready?"  
Stark didn't wait for an answer. He jumped up and started to run towards the Quinjet.

And all hell broke loose.

Clint didn't know how many were there but Stark definitely did catch more than just one or two bullets. He turned and fired his repulsors at people Clint couldn't see.

"Time to go", he murmured to himself.

Then, he, too, jumped up and ran.

_Bad idea. Very bad idea._

He had thought the constant stabs as he was breathing were as bad as it would get but now, the pain exploded in his side. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. His vision grew hazy around the edges. He stumbled forward.

_Mustn't let them catch me again._

The hatch at the back of the Quinjet opened and Rogers came charging out, shield at the ready.

"Over here!" he yelled. "Get over – watch out!"

Clint threw himself to the ground. Something whistled over his head and exploded close enough to him that he could feel the heat on his back.

_Grenades? You've got to be kidding me!_

He tried to get up again. They had to get out of here, and fast. If the Quinjet was damaged, they were toast.

Something wasn't right. Something about the pain had changed. He couldn't breathe. He felt like he was trying to breathe water.

Someone seized his right arm, pulled him to his feet and dragged him along.

"This way, hurry."

Rogers.

Someone else joined them, grabbing his left arm.

He still couldn't breathe. Suddenly, he tasted blood. He coughed. There was more of it and he was dimly aware that this couldn't be good.

"Shit." Stark's voice. "Did you bring Banner?"

Breathe, Clint told himself, breathe. It was growing more difficult by the moment. His vision was failing, too. Everything faded behind a thick black veil. He only realized they must have reached the Quinjet when the sound of their footsteps changed.

"Romanoff – get us the hell out of here! Banner – over here!"

He was lowered to the metal floor. He thought he saw Banner's face hovering over him, next to Rogers' and Stark's. They all looked worried, so he tried to smile and tell them he was okay but instead, he coughed again.

Someone unzipped his vest and pulled up the tank top he was wearing underneath.

Clint closed his eyes for a moment. The pain was unbearable and he was so tired ... He wished he'd pass out or something.

"Okay, listen closely – Kat", he heard Stark's voice close to his ear. "Don't you dare die on us or else, I'll tell everyone I caught you wearing a pink negligee with marabou feathers, singing and dancing along to 'I Will Survive'. Got it?"

Clint wanted to laugh but only managed to cough.

Someone – Stark, most likely – grabbed his right hand and squeezed.

"Hold on to this, okay? Just – don't let go. Helicarrier's on its way, too. We'll be there in no time."

Clint nodded. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the hand that was holding his.

Suddenly, someone stabbed him in the side.

Clint tried to twist away, tell the others that they had brought one of the enemies aboard and that the guy was trying to kill him but he couldn't move because someone was holding him down. Where were the others?

He forced his eyes open only to discover they were right there. The one holding him down was Rogers. Stark's face appeared in his field of vision again, too.

"It's okay", he said. "That's Banner. Hold still."

He didn't know what Banner was doing but he wanted him to stop because whatever it was, it wasn't exactly helping. He wanted to sit up because he still couldn't breathe properly and he was starting to feel like he was drowning. He closed his eyes again. Stark squeezed his hand like he was trying to break it. He wanted to tell him that he still needed that hand to hold his bow but couldn't muster the energy to even try.

He must have passed out for a moment. But suddenly, breathing was much easier. The pain was still there, though. And someone was slapping his face. Not like those thugs had – not to hurt him but to wake him. Someone was talking. He didn't understand the words. Someone else was still holding on to his right hand. He gave it a quick squeeze.

"Right, he's back."  
And closer to his ear.  
"Don't do that again. Pink marabou feathers, remember?"

* * *

Clint didn't get much of the rest of the flight to the helicarrier. He kept his eyes closed and, as before, concentrated on breathing and on the hand holding his own. Occasionally, there was a squeeze and he squeezed back to show he was still around. As far as he was concerned, it could have been mere minutes as well as hours or days. Even the pain in his side seemed to fade a little after a while.

Suddenly, a hard bump jostled him. He groaned when the pain returned full force.

"We're there", the voice by his ear said.

Sounds, voices, movement. This time, Clint did force his eyes open. Clear night sky. Unfamiliar faces. Where was Stark? His hand was still there – he grabbed it tighter. At once, Stark's face appeared above him.

"Where?" he managed to whisper.

"Helicarrier", Stark answered. "It's alright, you can let go now."

And he did – let go of the hand, let his eyes close again, let his mind finally drift into blessed darkness.


	8. Feathers

Right - not really my favourite chapter, since I was in kind of a hurry to get it written so I could maintain my posting-schedule. Only noticed two days ago this one was still missing ... Erm, since we had a mini-"trilogy" last, consider this the epilogue. ;)

Also, since the question came up: Nope, this ain't end in Tony/Hawkeye-slash. Or any slash. I don't mind that stuff and even like some of it but there's really so much of it out there, I simply prefer this to remain a story about folks getting to know each other and becoming friends.**  
**

* * *

**Feathers**

Three days. Three days since they had arrived on the helicarrier and Barton had been rushed off for emergency surgery. As the doc had told them, he had briefly woken up when the anesthetic had worn off but Tony had yet to see the archer awake. He cast a glance over at Barton and quickly looked down at is tablet again. Hearing the constant beeping sound of the monitor attached to the man was bad enough. Seeing his bruised face and all those tubes and bandages –

Of course, Tony knew, in his mind, it wasn't his fault. It was the fault of whoever had sold them out to the enemy. He couldn't help feeling slightly guilty, though. He should have tried harder to find those thugs' hide-out. So he could have got the archer out of there sooner.

Barton stirred in his sleep.

Tony put down his tablet and moved closer.

Suddenly, the monitor's beeping sped up. Tony saw the archer's hands clench into fists and his breathing came faster, too. He put his hand on Barton's shoulder, ready to wake him from whatever nightmare plagued him, should it get any worse. It only crossed his mind that this might not have been the wisest move when a hand closed around his throat. It wasn't a very firm grip but it still made him freeze at once.

"Easy", he murmured. "It's me. You're safe. We're on the helicarrier."

Barton's eyes snapped open. Tony watched his gaze dart here and there, probably to verify what he'd just heard. He looked disoriented and – not scared, cos guys like Barton weren't scared. Just like Tony Stark was never scared. No, sir. Alarmed. Guys like him and Barton were alarmed.

"Hey, look at me."  
Tony squeezed the archer's shoulder. With his other hand, he reached into his pocket and took a small mirror from it. Just a hunch, he had told himself when he had put it there. Now he was glad he had it.  
"You're okay, see?"  
He held the mirror so Barton could see his eyes in it.  
"He's not here. You're all alone in that strange mind of yours."  
He even managed to smile.

Barton let go of his throat and took the mirror instead. He stared at his reflection for a few moments, slightly turning his head this way and that. Then, he relaxed and closed his eyes again.

"How long?" he asked.  
His voice sounded dry and raspy.

"Three days."

Tony poured him a glass of water and held it so he could drink.

"Three days?"  
Barton wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Not exactly a new record according to what Tasha told us but not so bad, either", Tony said.

The archer nodded. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"And how long am I grounded?" he asked.

"Technically, you're supposed to stay here for a few weeks. Since we got Banner, though, they agreed to let us take you back to Avengers Tower after they've removed all those tubes. Which will be in about a week or so."  
Tony gave him a stern look.  
"Provided, of course, you're a good boy and stay in bed for at least another week after."

Barton tried to glare at him.  
"Where are the others?" he asked, which Tony translated as "Where's Tasha?"

"Round here, somewhere, and I better tell them you've decided to re-join the living – though, if you ask me, you look more like the living dead. Might wanna consider a second career starring in Romero's next zombie-movie …"

Another glare hit him, less half-hearted than the first one.  
"You wanna find out how alive I really am, Stark?"

"Thanks, but you already demonstrated that on my throat."  
Tony backed away.  
"And besides, that nurse they got here – Becky or Betty or something like that – will probably eat me alive if she thinks I made you tear your stitches."

When Barton grinned, Tony raised his hand.

"Same goes for laughing, buddy. Strictly forbidden. – Better go get the others now."

He turned to leave.

"Stark?"

"Yes?"

A short pause.

"What's with those feathers?"

Ah, he finally had noticed.

Tony turned, forcing himself to look dead serious.

"Well, you're still alive and soon to be kicking again but the doc said you _were_ gone for about a minute or so and since I promised you pink marabou feathers if you did that …"

He shrugged and gestured at the feather boa he had draped over the bed so Barton had to see it.

And then, he hurried to leave because even though the archer was trying hard not to laugh, it was easy to see he would lose that battle in the end, and Tony wasn't going to be anywhere near the man when Nurse Becky came bursting in to check on her patient.

* * *

A good week later, they were indeed allowed to take Barton back to Avengers Tower. Tony didn't know whether he was pleasantly surprised or just plain puzzled when the archer didn't trash the feather boa but instead, put it up in his room like some kind of trophy. He didn't protest overly much, either, when Tony started calling him "Feathers" …


	9. Couch Talk

... in which Tony finds out a bit more about Clint's childhood than he wanted to know, meaning: kinda nasty stuff. Consider yourselves warned.**  
**

* * *

**Couch Talk**

"What did I tell you?"

The question came so suddenly that it caught Tony totally off guard.

He and Barton were lounging in the living area after lunch. They had the upper levels of Avengers Tower all to themselves. The others had been sent up north on some mission. Tony hadn't quite paid attention to the briefing because he wasn't included. Barton was still grounded after their latest adventure and would be for another two weeks at least. They couldn't ground Tony since he wasn't part of SHIELD but he had been advised to take it slowly for a while and he had decided it was a good idea to do so. A few days off weren't bad. Would have been better if Pepper had been there, too, but she had stuff to do in L.A.

So it was just him and Barton.

Who was still looking at him and waiting for an answer.

"Uh – when?"  
Tony rubbed the back of his neck and pretended he didn't know what the archer was talking about.

Barton frowned at him.  
"You know when, Stark."

"Oh, then. Nothing. You told me nothing."  
Tony gave him a wide-eyed look of innocence. Of course, it didn't work. Should have known that. It never did.

Barton rolled his eyes.  
"I know I talked, Stark. Probably a lot. That's how those drugs work. I could fight it for a while, but after you came to the rescue and there was no need anymore to keep my mouth shut –"

Tony was about to ask why, when he obviously didn't remember, he wanted to know what he had said. But then, Barton looked at him and he could see in the archer's eyes that he needed to know. He needed to know how vulnerable he had shown himself. Tony understood that. He would have felt the same.

"Well."  
He cleared his throat. This wasn't awkward at all, oh no.  
"You – really didn't talk all that much cos you fell asleep pretty quick."

And he had done his best to shut Barton up once he had realized what the man was rambling on about and where he was headed.

"You told me a little about the bible-nuts", he said. "'Onward, Christian Soldiers' and so on."

"Ah."  
Barton nodded.  
"Alabama. Not exactly the best time in my life."

"You might have mentioned some quite – creative ways of punishing you", Tony went on.

"Yeah. Being made to kneel on dried peas for hours, reciting 'Our Lord's Prayer'. Or soap bars in pillow cases."

"Ouch." Tony winced. "You didn't mention those."

Barton shrugged. He shifted a bit on the couch.  
"Nothing like a good Christian who's trying to put the fear of god into you. They figured out pretty fast that I was 'unmanageable', as they put it", he said. "So I went to the next family."

"Well, I sure hope it got better there", Tony said.

Barton shook his head.  
"Not really. They looked okay at first but it turned out the father liked his drink a little too much."  
He didn't quite meet Tony's eyes.  
"And he had a thing for little boys. Never got me, though."  
Now he did look at Tony with a grim smile on his lips and an almost savage gleam in his eyes.  
"He tried to make me suck his cock, one night. I bit him so hard I almost bit it off."

"Jesus!" Tony tried not to stare at him but knew he wasn't succeeding. "Didn't they ever put you up with normal folks?"

Barton grew serious again.  
"Carol and Ed. The last family. They were decent folks. Couldn't have any kids of their own, or so they thought. They seemed to like me and maybe, they even would have kept me."

"What happened?" Tony asked.

"Carol got pregnant. And since I knew they wouldn't want me anymore once the baby was born, little smartass that I was –"  
Again, Barton shrugged.

Tony nodded.  
"I see. Next stop: circus."

"Yup."

And that hadn't worked out, either. Of course, Tony was curious to hear what had gone wrong there but for the time being, he decided he'd asked enough questions. He was surprised, actually, the archer had told him as much as he had.

Barton was staring at the couch Tony had settled down on but he could tell the man wasn't really seeing it.  
"The funny thing is – ten years later, I'm just having breakfast and suddenly, I see that photo on the milk carton. Me, as a kid. Almost choked. Obviously, they were trying to find me."

"Hm."  
Tony didn't know what to say without sounding like he was either pitying or patronizing the man. That certainly wasn't what the guy wanted to hear. And he didn't want to risk being murdered in his sleep, either. Okay, so Barton still might do that, once he decided he'd told Tony too much.

He settled for an age-old, well-known truth.  
"Life sucks."

"Yeah." Barton snorted. "Big time."  
He glanced up at Tony. There was a small smile on his face.  
"Not so much since I joined SHIELD, though."

Tony returned the smile.

"Hey, wanna watch a movie?" he asked.

"Sure, why not? What you got?"

Tony cocked his head to the side and considered this. He had a large collection of movies available on DVD. He just wasn't sure which ones Barton would enjoy as much as he.

"How about –"  
He stopped and grinned. The ultimate test. If Barton was as much of a freak as he seemed, he'd love that movie.  
"How about we take a trip to the Grid?"

"What?"  
Barton sat up straighter and winced when his injured side obviously didn't like that.  
"That one's out on DVD?"

"You know it."  
Tony's grin grew broader.

"Of course I know it! I saw it at the theater when it first came out."  
Barton shook his head.  
"Gods, that was ages ago."

Tony got up to get the DVD. Halfway to the TV, he stopped and turned.

"So – I've always been a computer nerd and thus, of course, I know it", he said. "What's your excuse?"

Barton grinned back at him.  
"Arcade games."

"I see."

* * *

Three weeks later when they were back in action and fighting a new villain and his troops, Clint sputtered and almost missed his aim when he heard Tony call at him over his earpiece: "Blast 'em a good one, Pinball Wizkid!"


	10. That Old 80s Epicness

Three cheers to everyone who knows the movie - and five for everyone who's actually seen it! ;)**  
**

* * *

**That Old 80s Epicness**

"Please."  
Tony batted his eyelashes at Steve.  
"Just once."

"No", Steve said, shaking his head. "Absolutely no."

"Aw, c'mon."

"I won't do it, Stark. Stop looking at me like that!"

"Do what?" Barton asked as he hopped down from his perch.

Natasha, too, was joining them now, carefully avoiding chunks of rubble that had fallen down from several buildings during the fight.

"Where's Bruce?" Steve asked.

She shrugged.

"The Hulk went that way." She pointed over her shoulder. "Thor's trying to find him."

"Hey, don't try to distract us", Barton said. "Do what?"

Tony grinned.  
"Remember what we talked about the other day, Feathers?"

His new nickname for Barton ever since he had given him the pink boa. So far, Barton hadn't objected. He even seemed to like the name.

"Oh." The archer smirked. "That."

"What?"  
Natasha looked from him to Tony and back to him again.

"I. Won't. Do. It", Steve said through gritted teeth.

"Why not?" Tony asked.

"It's silly."

"It isn't!" Barton protested. "It's – it's –"

"Groovy", Tony finished.

"Cult", Barton added.

"80s cult."

"And way cool."

They looked at each other, then Steve.

"Please", they said unisono.

Steve shook his head.

"No way."

"You know, I have no clue what's going on here but these two –" Natasha gestured at Barton and Tony. "- seem to have teamed up on you and they _will_ bug you until you finally cave in and do it, whatever 'it' is."

"So I get it over with right away?" Steve asked.

She nodded.  
"Would be the sensible thing to do."

"Alright."  
Steve sighed. Then, he took his shield in both hands, gripping the edge.

Tony gave Barton a nudge. They were both grinning and looking at him expectantly.

Steve lifted his shield high over his head and mumbled something. Then, he lowered it again.

"What was that?" Tony frowned. "I didn't quite catch that. You, Feathers?"

Barton shook his head.  
"Nope, didn't get it, either. And it was nowhere even nearly epic enough."

Steve gave them an exasperated glare. He took in a deep breath and lifted his shield again.

"I fight for the users!" he called.

"Yeah!"

"Awesome!"

Tony and Barton high-fived.

Steve again lowered his shield.

"Are you two satisfied now? Because I won't be doing this again."

He turned and started to walk away. After a few steps, he stopped and looked at the two over his shoulder.

"And god help me if I catch any of you fixing up my suit so it glows in the dark!"


	11. Poker Face

Shorter one today - longer one tomorrow, promise! I'm also slowly running out of chapters to post that are already written. I got several ideas for more stuff but right at the moment, I'm really busy at work and really finished when I get home. And I think I'll also dig up those two unfinished stories (one Loki, one Hawkeye) and try to finish them, which also takes up time. So: Warning - my posting-frequency will soon slow down a little!**  
**

* * *

**Poker Face**

He was surrounded. He could have taken on four, maybe even five – but this here was a small army. And every single one of those goons had a gun trained on him. At least, Clint guessed those things were guns.

"Freeze!" one of them commanded – probably the leader.

It was hard to tell since they all wore identical-looking face-masks and uniforms.

Clint slowly lowered his bow. He already had an arrow on the string but hadn't got to fire it.

He was running options through his mind, trying to find one that wouldn't end with him on the ground, with more holes in his body than a sieve.

"Keep them busy for a minute", he heard Stark over his earpiece, "I'm almost there."

He didn't point out that he might not have a minute. Better those goons kept their attention on him so Stark could take them by surprise.

"We got him", he heard the leader say.  
A pause, then, he addressed Clint again.  
"Drop your weapons, Hawkeye."

He did – only not the way they had expected.

He dropped his bow, seized the arrow and twisted the head off it.

"Right," he told them, "I suggest _you_ drop your weapons now."  
He raised his right hand and the arrow-head.  
"This is an explosive head and if you don't do as I say, I'll blow us all sky-high."

He knew Stark could hear him.

They all froze, turning their heads at their leader.

The man – if he was human, not easy to figure out with those face-masks – shook his head.

"You wouldn't blow up yourself."

"Oh yeah?" Clint smiled. "Try me."

That made the leader hesitate. Clint knew that smile had this effect on people. Even Stark had called it creepy, once.

The leader straightened, lowering his weapon a fraction.

"You know what?" he said, "I think you're bluffing."

Clint shrugged.  
"As I said – try me."

Luckily, they didn't get to it because Stark arrived on the scene right then and had taken out about half of them before they knew what was happening. Clint didn't get to deal with more than two or three himself.

Stark landed next to him. He opened his helmet. There was a broad grin on his face.  
"Nice bluff, Feathers."

Clint frowned.  
"What bluff?"

"This one."  
Stark took the arrowhead Clint was still holding in his right hand and tossed it in the air.  
"That's a grappling –"

"Shit!" Clint swore, cutting him off.

He used his bow to bat the arrowhead away from them as far as possible, then launched himself at Stark, pushing him to the ground.

Above and slightly to the left of them, the arrowhead exploded.

Stark stared at him, mouth hanging open, eyes wide.

Clint got up, brushing dust off his suit.  
"Really, Stark, with you being such a genius one would think you could tell the difference between a grappling and an explosive arrowhead ..."

Start swallowed hard.  
"Remind me to never play poker with you."


	12. Broken Wing

Long one today. :) Featuring most of the Avengers - well, those from the movie, anyways.**  
**

* * *

**Broken Wing**

The Hawk had chosen a new vantage point – obviously, he needed both hands to get to his preferred perch outside, at the top of the tower. And he wasn't allowed to move his left arm. Not as long as his shoulder wasn't properly healed. So he had found a new nest: one of the large panorama windows near the living area. He sat there for hours to watch the city below.

Tony was watching him. For no special reason, just because he could. And had nothing better to do. Watching the Hawk was – entertaining. And revealing.

* * *

The first one to approach the Hawk was Rogers, bringing him a mug of coffee and a plate with cookies and an apple.

The Hawk raised his eyebrows and gave him that look.  
"Isn't it supposed to be milk and cookies?"

Rogers grinned.  
"You're too old for milk and cookies."

The Hawk grinned right back at him.  
"You're _never_ too old for milk and cookies. – What's with the apple?"

"My Mum always used to say 'an apple a day keeps the doctor away' and since it's getting colder and this isn't exactly the warmest spot in the house –"

"- you want me to chuck an apple at Banner whenever I see him?" the Hawk finished and shook his head. "Bad idea, oh capitano mio. And it's a green apple, too."

Rogers left laughing.

The Hawk half turned and tossed the apple at Tony who caught it.

"Nice catch, Tin Man."

_Note to self: Don't let him watch 'The Wizard of Oz' again. And add extra insulation to those windows._

* * *

"You really have to be careful."  
Banner gently moved the Hawk's left arm and stopped when the archer winced.  
"You'll have to let it heal properly."

"I know", the Hawk said.

"And you mustn't put too much strain on the shoulder too soon, or else –"

"I _know_."  
Mild glare.  
"I've been doing this for a while, remember? It's not the first time I get injured like this and I know I'm out for a few weeks."

Banner nodded.  
"Just wanted to make sure you know this isn't just another scratch."

"_I know_."  
Still more emphasis on those two words.  
"Can I have my arm back now?"

"Sure."  
Banner let go of the Hawk's arm and turned to leave.  
"No bows – and no playing darts, either", he called back over his shoulder. "Or throwing knives."

The Hawk rolled his eyes.

"Oy, Feathers!"  
Tony grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl.  
"An apple a day, remember?"

He tossed the apple at the archer who caught it with his right hand and made as if to throw it at Banner.

"I wouldn't if I were you", the doctor said without turning.

The Hawk grinned and bit a chunk out of the apple.

* * *

Tasha was creepy enough as it were. Well, not all the time. She could get creepy as hell, though. As for her and the Hawk, though – they had that way of talking without speaking that made the skin at the back of Tony's neck crawl. Looks. Gestures. Tiny, almost imperceptible changes in their expressions – a smirk, a frown, a shrug. And to them, all of that obviously spoke volumes.

Tony drummed his fingers on the counter-top. Of course, the Hawk noticed.

A slight nudge, a tiny nod in his direction and they were both looking at him, the corners of their mouths curled up in almost identical smirks.

Tony cleared his throat.

"Should I leave you two lovebirds alone?" he asked. And frowned. "Talking about birds – can spiders and hawks cross-breed?"

The two looked at each other and then, they were doing it again. Tony tried to ignore it but he knew they were talking-without-speaking about him. Again. He deliberately turned his back on them, although it made him feel horribly exposed and went over to the fridge to get – something. It didn't matter.

He jumped almost high enough to bang his head on the ceiling when, suddenly, Tasha spoke right behind him.

"Yes, but the result's not pretty. Too many eyes, too many legs and it can fly, too."

Tony closed his eyes and said through clenched teeth: "Lemme guess – you're trying to find out whether I can die of a heart attack."

By his window across the room, the Hawk burst out laughing.

* * *

He had run out of coffee. So Tony left his workshop at around half past two in the morning: to brew himself a fresh pot in the kitchen. Of course, he could have done so in the workshop, too. But he had got stuck and maybe, the short walk would help him clear his mind and find a solution.

He knew his way around this floor in the dark, so he didn't bother turning on the lights – and thus, almost missed the dark figure by the window.

When he spotted it, though, he moved closer.

"Bit late for a hawk to still be up and about", he said, putting his hands in his pockets. "Or are you turning into a night owl?"

The Hawk looked up at him.  
"Yeah, y'know, I'm getting bored being an Avenger so I thought I'd start training to join the Watchmen."

It took Tony a moment to make the connection.

_Right. Watchmen. Nite Owl._

"Does your shoulder hurt or why aren't you sleeping?" he asked.

The Hawk shook his head.  
"I'm fine. Sometimes, I just like to stay up late and watch the Streetlight People and since I can sleep all day tomorrow –"

He gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"Streetlight People?"  
Tony sat down across from him and peered out of the window. It did afford a great view of Manhattan nightlife, he had to give him that.

"Yeah." The Hawk frowned. "Don't know that song?"

"Sure. Just never occurred to me to call them that."

They sat in silence for a while. Tony watched the city lights down below. He could just barely make out people down there. Not as many as during the day but there still were plenty.

He snorted and shook his head.

The Hawk raised his eyebrows at him.

"Sinatra was right", Tony said. "With his 'city that never sleeps' stuff."

The Hawk pursed his lips.  
"I dunno. Ever been to Tokyo? Pretty active at night, too. Especially Shinjuku."

"I wouldn't know. Spent my nights there in my hotel suite with a bunch of pretty ladies." Tony grinned. "Does it count that some of us got – quite active in my bedroom?"

The Hawk rolled his eyes.  
"Why did I know you'd say something like that?"

Tony's grin widened but he didn't say anything. The Hawk returned his attention to the window. After a while, Tony started to wonder whether his presence had been forgotten and he shouldn't better get his coffee and return to his workshop.

He was halfway across the room when the Hawk spoke again.

"Those folks down there, the ones heading for those fancy clubs – that's not the real Streetlight People, you know?"

Something about his tone was different. More serious than before.

It made Tony turn round to him.

"The real Streetlight People, that's all those crooks and hookers. Hobos. Drifters. Those that fell by the wayside, somewhere along the line, and that no one bothered to pick up again. Some of those folks got quite some stories to tell."

What he didn't say, but what Tony still understood – heard in his tone – was that, sometimes, he wondered why he of all people had got lucky. Why he was here now instead of out on the streets and one of those Streetlight People. His own story wasn't so different from theirs, after all. Only that someone had picked him up instead of leaving him there, by the wayside. Tony actually wondered the same about himself, sometimes. Why he was here. Why he was still alive. Why he hadn't been killed, back then in Afghanistan.

He shrugged.

"Some just get lucky, I guess."

"Lucky?" The Hawk looked at him. "You're living here with two master assassins who know about 150 ways to kill you, each, a time-displaced supersoldier, a guy with severe anger management problems and occasionally a demi-god who's strong enough to accidentally snap your neck if he hugs you the wrong way. All of them with enough issues to feed and clothe a shrink for at least a decade, if not longer. And you consider yourself lucky?"

The seriousness was missing from his voice, this time.

Tony laughed.  
"I've said it before and I'm saying it again: Anything to keep life interesting."

The Hawk shook his head.  
"Man, you must be really suicidal if you call that interesting", he said with a broad grin.

"Absolutely and completely."  
Tony kept his expression dead serious.

The Hawk laughed.  
"Right, I'll just call you Marvin, then, instead of 3PO."


	13. Leap of Faith

**Leap of Faith**

"Feathers, you gotta get off that roof."

Clint frowned at the anxiety that was all too clear in Stark's voice.

"Why?" he asked.

It was the perfect spot, the highest building all around, providing him with a great view of the surrounding area. He could easily see the others, two blocks away, engaged in battle against what he had dubbed the "Villain of the Week" (it was a group, actually, but who cared?).

"Cos the building's rigged with explosives. And they'll blow it to pieces any moment, so get off that fucking roof _NOW!_"

"Right."

Clint rose and touched a switch on his bow to attach the grappling-head to one of his arrows. The plan was to jump, shoot the arrow and use the rope attached to it to get down from the building as fast as he could.

He had just reached the edge of the roof when there was an ominous sound from down below and the building started to shake beneath his feet. He could feel the explosives going off one by one.

"Uh, guys –"

He heard Stark curse over his earpiece.  
"Jump! We're on our way."

"On our way" might prove to be not even nearly fast enough but Clint had run out of time. It was jumping or waiting here and be blown to smithereens. In the first case, he might end up as an ugly stain on the pavement below, in the second, there probably wouldn't be enough of him left to justify burying it.

So he threw himself off the roof, trying to get as far away from the building as he could. He fell for what seemed to him like forever and wondered whether it was really true that, when you were about to die, you saw your life flashing before your eyes because there were things he could do very well without seeing them again, thank you very much. Then, he hit something. Not the ground. It was considerably softer and greener.

"Hulk got little hawk!"

The building exploded.

The Hulk curled himself around Clint. Chunks of concrete, pieces of twisted steel and a shower of glass-shards rained down around them. The force of the explosion flung them several feet away from the building before the Hulk landed on the ground, hitting it so that he was shielding Clint from the falling debris without crushing him.

When the noise subsided, there was absolute silence.

The Hulk crouched, still with Clint in his arms. Static crackled over his earpiece, as if the others were holding their breath.

Clint took in several deep breaths and willed his wildly hammering heart to slow down.

"Right", he said. "Everyone seen that? Cos I'm not doing it again."

More silence.

Then:  
"Jack Sparrow, 'On Stranger Tides'", Tony answered.

Clint frowned.  
"What?"

"Sorry. _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, of course. That scene where he's just jumped off that really, really high cliff."

A faint metallic sound. Probably Tasha whacking the guy a good one. Or rather, his suit.

Clint grinned.  
"You're an idiot, Stark."

"Only trying to live up to my reputation."

"As what?" Clint shot back. "Walking one-liner?"

Someone laughed. It sounded like Tasha.


	14. Stars & Stripes

OK - very short, very silly but I just had to. This is what happens when, during the end credits of "The Dark Knight Rises", I start discussing Batman specifically and superhero movies in general with my pals, when, of course, "The Avengers" are mentioned and when I look at the credits to see "The Star-Spangled Banner" roll by. I get - ideas ... ;)**  
**

On another note - this is the last of the chapters/scenes that are already written. I got ideas for several more but right now, struggling to find the time to get them written. So I might slow down with posting now. Sorry for that.

* * *

**Stars & Stripes**

Tony was looking for the Hulk. The fight was over, the others were all accounted for and well and helping with the clean-up. The Hulk, however, had wandered off during the fight. He wouldn't be hard to find. Basically, Tony only had to follow the trail of destruction he'd left: smashed windows, damaged buildings, chunks of concrete in the street.

It didn't take him long to find the Hulk. He was three blocks down from the others and two streets across. A huge crowd had gathered around him, talking excitedly. A group of Japanese tourists was busy snapping photos. The Hulk, for his part, just stood there with a somewhat bemused look on his face.

That wasn't what made Tony nearly fall out of the sky laughing. Being a genius, of course he made the connection almost immediately.

"Guys!" he called in to the others. "Hey, guys, come quick! You gotta see this!"

"Everything okay?" Rogers asked.

"Yes. Just – come. Cos if I tell you, you won't believe it."

By the time the others arrived, the crowd had grown even larger and Tony silently thanked that whatever gods there were had so far stopped the Hulk from – well, hulking out.

"Oh my."  
Tasha smirked.

Rogers looked slightly puzzled.  
"Why is he wearing an American flag around his hips?" he asked.

Tony shrugged.  
"Probably lost his pants and grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on that was large enough."

Clint grinned and shook his head.  
"Star-spangled Banner indeed …"

Which made Tony crack up for the second time that day.


	15. Believe It Or Not

Right, another very short one today. Didn't get to post yesterday - sorry, but I went to a Batman triple feature and didn't get home before 3.30am, sooo ... *grin* Anyways - this is only the set-up, basically. There's more to come (but I'm not telling what) ... ;)**  
**

* * *

**Believe It Or Not**

Tony almost choked on his drink.  
"You're bullshitting me, Barton."

The Hawk gave him a slight frown.

"I mean," Tony went on, "with an organization like SHIELD, you can expect top notch intel, right? They oughta know stuff like that."

"Usually, yes."  
The Hawk took a sip from his beer-bottle.  
"But not everyone's like you and likes to rub their sex-life into everyone else's face, you know? Every once in a blue moon, it happens that we find out on location that Tasha's charms won't work on a guy because – well, he's not into girls."

"And then, you – what? Switch places and you take over for her?"  
Tony gave him an incredulous look.

The Hawk nodded.  
"You don't always have a gay agent at hand when you need one. It's the same the other way round, after all."

"You mean, you can fake that? So that they buy it?"

"Yup. Takes a little practice, though."

Tony shook his head.  
"Sorry, buddy but – no. Just no. I mean, you're just as straight as … as … well, as our dear Capsicle, probably. And you're telling me you can pretend you're not – and convincingly so? No way!"  
He gave a little laugh.

The Hawk shrugged.  
"Whatever. It isn't like I'd have to get into your bed or so."

Tony winced.  
"No offense but if I'd want one of you two super-spies in my bed, it'd be your partner."  
He cast a glance around to make sure she wasn't actually standing behind him.  
"But don't tell her I said that, okay? I don't wanna get killed in my sleep."

The Hawk grinned and took another swig of beer.


	16. What the …?

Ok, next part. I'm aiming for a "two-day-cycle", meaning I'll try to update every two days, now that I have to get every new chapter written before posting (having run out of my "stash"). No promises, though, cos - well, sometimes, life happens ... ;)**  
**

* * *

**What the …?**

It wasn't exactly that Tony was trying to delete that short talk from his memory. It just went the way of most information that wasn't crucial: He stored it away for further reference and then, forgot about it. At least until, about two weeks later, Banner cornered him in his workshop. He didn't speak immediately. For a while, he just stood there, looking very much like someone who really needed to get something off his chest but didn't quite know how to start.

"Spit it out, Banner", Tony finally told him, his eyes never leaving the project on the worktable, "before you choke on it and the Hulk thinks I was trying to murder you."

"Well –"  
Banner rubbed the back of his neck.  
"It's probably none of my business, but – have you noticed how Barton looks at you, recently?"

That got Tony's attention.

"The Hawk's always watching everything", he said with a slight frown.

"Not like that."

"Like what? Like he's trying to figure out how to murder me in my sleep?"  
Tony grinned.

Banner shook his head.  
"More like he's trying to figure out how to get into your bed. If you know what I mean."

And with that, he left.

Tony just stood there for a moment, his mouth hanging open, replaying the whole short conversation in his mind.

"_What?_" he blurted out.

And that was when he remembered that other talk. The one he'd had with the Hawk about two weeks ago.

He shook his head. The grin appeared on his face again. Of course. The Hawk was faking it. Trying to prove that he could pull it off. He'd already convinced Banner, obviously, that he'd developed a crush on him, Tony.

"Wonder how far he'll take it."

Did he want to make Rogers notice, too? Well, in that case, he'd have to lay it on a little thicker cos in matters like that, the dear Capsicle was about as perceptive as a slice of toast.

* * *

Two days later, Tony wasn't so sure anymore that the Hawk was just faking it. Because, now that he paid attention to it, he did catch the odd glance or two the other man directed at him. Nothing out of the usual, he tried to convince himself.

He couldn't help thinking, though, that he kinda lacked conviction.

After dinner, he was standing by a window in the living area, his back on the room, when, suddenly, he caught the Hawk's reflection in said window. Tony hadn't heard the guy enter the scene – he definitely knew how to sneak up on someone. Now, he stood there, watching Tony. Staring at him, actually.

Tony turned, ready to ask whether he'd suddenly sprouted tentacles from the back of his head or why else the stare. The look in the Hawk's eyes stopped him.

Longing. No, much more than that, actually. Desire.

It was there – and in the blink of an eye, it was gone. But Tony was absolutely sure he had seen it.

For a moment, it looked like the Hawk would say something.

Then, Tony heard someone approaching – by the sound of the footsteps, his guess was it was Rogers.

The Hawk turned away from Tony and quickly left, brushing past Rogers as he entered. Tony stared at his retreating back.

"What was that?" Rogers asked with a slight frown.

"Sonofabitch!"  
Tony blinked.

Rogers' frown deepened at the curse.  
"Language, Stark."

Tony looked at him.  
"Banner was right!"

"And that's a reason to swear?" Rogers asked.

"In this case – yes, most definitely!"  
Tony ran a hand through his hair.

The Hawk. Having a crush on him.

_He's just faking it,_ a small voice whispered at the back of his mind.

He dismissed it. Impossible. You couldn't fake a look like that.

_Of course he can. He told you so, remember?_

Yes, he had indeed. Or maybe he had been lying. Maybe he wasn't as straight as he claimed …

_Nonsense. He's bullshitting you, that's what's happening. You said you didn't believe him and he took it as a challenge._

Yes. That sounded reasonable, didn't it? More so, at least, than the Hawk developing a crush on him. Not that he would be the first guy to do so. Tony _was_ exceptionally handsome, after all. But this was the Hawk!

He took in a deep breath.

"On second thought," he told Rogers, "maybe it isn't."

He patted the man on the shoulder and left.

And pointedly ignored the small voice that whispered that, maybe, he was wrong.


	17. X-Rated

So, here's the next one. Sorry for the delay. Once again, it was too much knitting that distracted me from writing. And this one wasn't really easy to write, either.**  
**

* * *

**X-Rated**

Tony wasn't avoiding the Hawk. Well – not really.

Alright.

Fine.

He was trying not to be alone with him in the same room. Without being too obvious about it, of course. Because, to be honest, another day had passed since their latest run-in and, well, that small voice that had whispered at him the Hawk wasn't actually faking it? It had grown pretty loud. And insistent.

He didn't know, thus, how he had managed to end up in the kitchen alone with the Hawk. Who was giving him _that_ look again.

"Uh – hi", Tony said.

The Hawk put his hands in his pockets and remained silent.

"Coffee?"

Stupid question. It was greeted with more silence. Tony poured himself a mug – and set it down on the kitchen counter without drinking.

This was awkward. He hated awkward.

It wouldn't pass if he just ignored it, though.

_Right, better address this before it actually turns into a problem._

Tony took in a deep breath.  
"Listen, I don't know what this is all about …"

"You want to know what this is all about?"  
The Hawk's voice was soft. He was almost whispering.

_No, actually, I don't wanna know._

Too late.

Before Tony realized what was happening, the Hawk had crossed the distance between them, seized him by the arms and started kissing him. Tony was too startled to even think of trying to struggle. At least, for a few moments.

Long enough to take note that the Hawk definitely knew what he was doing there. Right, this probably wasn't on Tony's personal top ten list of "Best Kiss Ever" but it wasn't bad. Except that Tony definitely wasn't into guys and least of all the Hawk but how to tell Mr. Super-Assassin that you didn't fancy him without running the risk of waking up dead the next morning?

"Jesus!"

One word was all it took to turn awkward into "Please let me drop dead right _now!_"

Of course, it just had to be Rogers who walked in on them.

_Go figure._

Tony pushed the Hawk away.  
"Uh, Steve, I swear this isn't what it looks like …"

Rogers said nothing. He was staring at them in shock.

"Oh, come on." The Hawk rolled his eyes. "He caught us. No good denying it anymore. That guy might be a bit old-fashioned but he's not stupid, you know?"

He looked Tony right in the eyes and then – winked at him before turning to Rogers.

_Ah, I see._  
Tony barely managed not to grin.  
_You really were only playing, after all. And now, you want me to play along._

Should he? After all, he had a reputation to lose. On the other hand – this was Rogers. Captain Prim-and-Proper. Mr. Old-Fashioned. Should he really pass up the opportunity to see him squirm?

"Guess you're right, Feathers."  
Tony rubbed the back of his neck.

"You. Two."  
Rogers blinked several times and shook his head.  
"I thought you and Miss Potts –"  
He gave Tony a stern glare.  
"Does she know about this?"

"Pepper? Of course she does!"  
Tony gave a small laugh.  
"She's pretty open-minded about this, actually. You see, as long as it's just other guys – not girls …"  
He shrugged.

Rogers turned to the Hawk.  
"And what about you and Tasha?"

"Oh, we're partners. And friends. Pretty close friends, actually. But that's it."  
The Hawk smiled.  
"Besides, sometimes, her and Pepper like to join in, you know?"

"Erm …"  
Rogers' cheeks turned a really pretty shade of pink.

Tony somehow managed to keep a straight face and give an enthusiastic nod.  
"Oh yeah, they do and –"

"Alright", Rogers cut him off, raising his hands. "It's none of my business, really, and as long as no one's getting hurt just – do whatever you're doing. I don't wanna know. Just –"

He hesitated.

Tony raised his eyebrows.  
"Just?"

Rogers took in a deep breath.  
"Not on the counter, OK? We're all using it for preparing food."

And with that, he turned and left.

"Not on the counter?"  
Tony's eyebrows climbed even higher.

The Hawk shrugged.  
"He does have a point there. So – your bedroom or mine?"

"Why, you …"  
Tony tried to slap him but the Hawk dodged his hand with a laugh.

"Come on, for a moment, you thought it was all real, didn't you?"

Tony hesitated, then nodded.  
"I can't tell whether it was an Oscar-worthy performance but yes, you got me there – for a moment."

The Hawk grinned.  
"Good enough for me."

"Soooo …"  
Tony put his arm around the Hawk's shoulders and pulled him along as he slowly started to walk away from the kitchen counter.  
"How did you find my collection of X-rated movies – and how did you get the Capsicle to actually watch them?"


	18. Lost in Time?

And another one. Enjoy!**  
**

* * *

**Lost In Time?**

His favourite spot was occupied. For a moment, Clint considered going back inside. The dark figure on the roof turned slightly but the sliver of light that now fell on the face hadn't been necessary for Clint to identify the person. Rogers.

All the more reason to go back inside. The guy hadn't seemed particularly mad when Stark had explained that they had only pranked him – especially since Banner, too, had been fooled – but one could never know. Something made Clint stop, though. The good captain looked more than just a little lost. So Clint joined him.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

Rogers turned.  
"Oh, it's you."  
He gave Clint a small, tight-lipped smile.  
"I slept for seventy years. That's more than enough for a lifetime, don't you think so, too?"

Clint thought he detected just the tiniest hint of bitterness in the man's voice.

He shrugged.  
"Can't tell. Never slept that long. The longest I was ever out of it was two weeks."

That mission really had gone spectacularly wrong and if it hadn't been for Tasha and Coulson, he would have been out of it for good.

Rogers nodded but didn't say anything.

He stared at the city down below.

Clint again debated whether to go back inside. Not that silence bothered him. Hell, there had been missions where he'd been forced to spend hours in the same position without making a sound. This was a heavy kind of silence, however. The kind that he didn't like. There was something on Rogers' mind. And he would talk about it. They always did, sooner or later. If Clint was still here, then, he would feel obliged to reply, maybe offer some kind of advice. He wasn't so sure whether he was really the right person to do so. The one piece of advice that he could give from his own experience was "Don't mess up your life cos it's really, _really_ hard work to try to straighten out everything again." Which, unfortunately, wouldn't apply to anything Rogers might say.

"It really doesn't look all that different from here."  
Rogers glanced at him.  
"The city, I mean."

There. He had known it. He should have made his exit while there still was time. Too late now.

Clint stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged.  
"Well, if you're asking me, it's changed a lot during the last, say, twenty years or so."

"Yes, I guess you're right."  
Rogers sighed.  
"Maybe it's just wishful thinking."

Clint gave him a sideways glance. Could you actually get homesick for a certain time, rather than a certain place? Judging from the look on the guy's face, you probably could.  
"You're missing your folks, huh?"

"Not as often or as much as I used to since I moved into the tower with you lot", Rogers said with a small smile. "But sometimes, I do. And I'm not sleeping as much as I used to. Side-effect of the supersoldier serum, I guess. That gives me a lot of time to think."

"Or watch Tony's X-rated movies." Clint grinned at him. "'Not on the counter'?"

Rogers blushed.  
"Yes, that. Sorry. I'm still adjusting to all this."  
He made a vague gesture.  
"In this time, stuff seems to be possible or even normal that, back in my time, few would even think about. Let alone try."

"Now you sound like your own grandpa."

"I'm old enough to _be_ my own grandpa."  
Again, Rogers sighed.  
"Not that I don't like it here or that I don't like you people but sometimes –"  
He shrugged.

"Sometimes you wish you could turn back time and be with your - friends", Clint finished for him.

He knew that feeling only too well.

Rogers nodded.

"And I wish I could have kept my date with Peggy. – Well, I guess getting lost in time is a good enough excuse for not showing up, huh?"

He looked at Clint.

Clint snorted.  
"Lost in time – and lost in space – and meaning."

He didn't know why that line had suddenly popped up in his mind. Maybe because of the "lost in time" stuff.

Rogers frowned.  
"What?"

Of course, he didn't get it. Clint actually would have been surprised if he had cos it wasn't exactly the kind of movie he would have expected Captain America to have seen.

On the other hand – Tony's X-rated movies …

"What's the time?" Clint asked, straightening.

"Uh –" Rogers checked. "Half past eleven. Why?"

"Ah, good. We can make it, then."  
He turned and strode away.  
"C'mon, I wanna show you something. I can't guarantee you'll like it but it's better than standing here and getting homesick. Lot more entertaining, too."

Rogers followed him a little hesitantly.  
"What exactly do you want to show me, if you don't mind me asking?"

Clint waited until the guy had caught up with him. He grinned.  
"You, my friend, are about to join me for the midnight screening of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. If we're lucky, we'll even catch an audience participation."

"Rocky Horror Picture Show?" Rogers frowned. "What's that?"

Clint laughed.  
"Just wait and see!"


	19. I Darn Well Hope I AM Dreaming!

Ok, this one took a while and I'm not really sure whether it isn't kinda OOC but - well, the image just got stuck in my mind and there it is! Yay! :D**  
**

* * *

**I Darn Well Hope I AM Dreaming!**

Afterwards, Clint decided that he would never ever sit with his back to the entrance again when joining the others for a meal. He didn't get a proper warning. He heard Rogers' footsteps – when he thought about it later, he realized they had sounded a little odd – and the next thing he knew was that Stark was spitting out his mouthful of coffee. Right at him. He tried to dodge but the coffee hit his shoulder.

"Hey!"

Stark just pointed at something behind him, eyes and mouth wide open.

Clint frowned.  
"What?" he asked. "Don't be ridiculous, that's only –"

Rogers, he had been about to say. He had turned while speaking and was now looking at the man himself. Rogers gave him a somewhat nervous, shy smile.

"Good morning", he said and sat down.

Clint kept staring at him. From the corner of his eye he saw that Banner and Tasha, too, had stopped moving.

It wasn't that Rogers joined them for breakfast. He often did that since he had moved into the tower. It was his – what exactly did you call that kind of – thing? Attire? Clint could only describe it as "Steve N. Furter", right down to the high-heels. In red, white and blue. Plus pink marabou feathers – were those his, actually? – around the neck.

Banner, not Stark, was the first of them to find his voice again.

"Uh, nice – outfit, Steve. If I may ask – what's the occasion?"

"Well …"  
Rogers gave them all such a sweet and shy smile that, had it been anyone else, Clint would have immediately suspected it was false.  
"Clint took me to watch that movie, a few days ago, and I realized that what life really is all about is always being true to yourself. 'Don't dream it – be it', right?"  
He shrugged.  
"Back in my time, I couldn't. But nowadays, people are so much more accepting …"

Stark glared at Clint, Bruce frowned at him and Tasha raised her eyebrows.

"What? It's not my fault!" Clint protested.

"You showed him the movie!"  
Stark pointed at him.  
"Of course it's your fault that he's dressed up like – like –"

"A sweet transvestite from Transsexual, Transylvania?" Clint finished with a grin.

Rogers bit his lower lip and looked down at his plate.

"That's not funny", Banner chided.

"Of course it is!"  
Clint glanced at Rogers to check if he was right. Yup. The dear captain definitely was trying not to laugh. Not obviously so or the others would have noticed, too.

"Right, if it's so funny, _you_ explain to Fury why Captain America's suddenly turned into Captain Superfreak", Stark snapped at him and turning to Rogers quickly added: "No offense, buddy."

Rogers just waved it off.

They finished breakfast in silence. Clint somehow managed to keep a straight face. Rogers hid behind his mug or cereal bowl most of the time. The others kept stealing more or less obvious glances at him. They left almost immediately after finishing their breakfast.

Clint stayed. He propped his chin up on his folded hands and watched Rogers.  
"So – how long you gonna let them stew?" he asked.

Rogers shrugged.  
"Not sure. Next Friday maybe?"  
He grinned.  
"I want to see Stark's face when I tell him I'm going to see that the Rocky Horror Picture Show again and this time, dressed like this."  
He gestured at himself.

* * *

Down the corridor, Stark, Tasha and Banner stopped dead in their tracks when they suddenly heard the Hawk howl with laughter.

Stark closed his eyes.

"Right, how about we sit down in a circle, hold hands and pray we're just dreaming? Because if those two –" He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. "- decide to team up on us, it's gonna be hell. Just imagine."  
He opened his eyes again.  
"The Hawk's dirty, devious little mind and Mr. Innocence to carry out his schemes …"

More laughter from the living area.

Tasha shook her head.  
"Prayers won't help. What you _really_ want is an exorcist ..."


	20. Melt-Down

Rrrright. Very short today. But there'll be another one tomorrow and that'll be longer. Promise.**  
**

* * *

**Melt-Down**

It happened when they were watching a movie. Some cheap horror-flick Stark had rented just so they all could make fun of it.

Clint had wandered off to the fridge to get another beer – yes, the movie really _was_ that bad. When he turned back at the others, it hit him. Right out of the blue, without warning.

Tasha was curled up in one of the armchairs. Banner occupied the other one. Stark and Rogers sat on the couch with a huge bowl of popcorn between them. The spot next to Stark was vacant. Clint had been sitting there, and while sitting, he hadn't noticed anything wrong with it. Now, looking at it from a distance, he immediately saw what wasn't right about it.

Right among them. He had been sitting right there – not slightly to the left or right or above, as usual. He had forgotten to keep his distance.

Clint put the beer-bottle down on the kitchen counter with a loud "clink".

Stark turned to him.  
"Everything okay, Feathers?"

That was another thing. Nicknames. That was how it always started. And before he knew what was happening, they'd be calling him Clint instead of Barton. He had to stop this before it got out of hand.

For now, however, he just nodded.

"Fine", he said, trying to sound normal. "I just remembered I got – stuff to do. You'll have to watch the rest of the movie without me. Sorry."

He turned to leave.

Stark frowned.  
"Stuff? What stuff?"

"Super-secret spy-stuff", Clint told him back over his shoulder. "Can't tell you or else, I'll have to kill you."

He winked and then, quickly made his exit.

He knew what he had to do.


	21. Hawk AWOL

As promised - here's the next one. Tried something a little different here. Hope you like it.**  
**

* * *

**Hawk AWOL**

**Day 3**

"Hey, Tasha. Just wondering – any chance you've seen the Hawk recently?"

"Clint? Not today. Why, do you need him for anything?"

"Huh? No. As I said, just wondering."

"He likes to go off on his own for a few days now and then."

"Oh. Okay. Good."

* * *

**Day 10**

"His stuff. It's gone."

"And how would you – wait a minute. Did you go snooping around his room?"

"Whoa! Don't rip my head off! Jesus. I just – well, I'm getting a little worried. I mean, it's been almost two weeks. That hardly qualifies as 'a few days', does it?"

"According to Clint's standards, it does."

"Really? What's the longest he's ever been gone like this?"

"Three and a half weeks."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"…"

"Well, if you're really, really worried, I guess you can always ask the director. Clint usually tells him around when he'll be back."

"Fury? I don't think I'm that worried – yet."

* * *

**Day 28**

"Fury doesn't know where he is, either."

"You spoke to him?"

"Not – exactly …"

"Then how - You didn't."

"…"

"…"

"Hey, don't look at me like that! It's not my fault they can't get their mainframe hacker-proof. I'm actually doing them a favour by showing them all those gaps in their security protocols, you know? I mean, just imagine it wasn't me but one of the bad –"

"Not interested, Stark. – What did you find out?"

"No one seems to know where he is. Your dear partner seems to have dropped off the face of the world."

"…"

"My thoughts exactly. It's really odd, isn't it? Here we are, watching that stupid movie together and suddenly, he walks out because he's got 'stuff to do'. And that's the last we see of him."

"You're absolutely sure he's not on a mission? It might be classified. Or undercover."

"Well, if it is, then it's so classified and undercover not even Fury knows about it. He's sent memos to every other SHIELD-branch out there to be on the look-out for the Hawk."

"It might still be a top secret undercover mission. To get Clint into – I don't know, into some criminal organization or something."

"Yeah, but wouldn't it be more plausible, in that case, to let him have a big public fall-out with his fellow Avengers and demonstrate to the world at large that he's not one of them anymore?"

"True."

"See? He's gone missing. – What?"

"There _is_ another option … - No. He wouldn't."

"He wouldn't what?"

"Change sides. I mean, really change sides."

"Right. He's about as likely to do that as the Hulk is to join the Harlem Gospel Singers anytime soon."

"Great. Thanks for that image, Stark."

"Could it be – something else?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well – we don't know what exactly Loki did to him and – no, please, let me finish before you kill me, okay? What if he didn't manage to get rid of it all? Or Loki hid something in his mind? And something – well, activated it?"

"Like a sleeper persona, you mean?"

"Yeah, I guess, something like that. What do you think? You know him better than anyone else here."

"…"

"Thing is, if that's what's happened, I think it's about time we tried to find him so we can –"

"- bring him in to SHIELD to lock him up for good or get rid of him?"

"Hell, no! I was gonna bring him here so we – Bruce and I – could try to find a way to help him. Provided, of course, that's really what happened."

"…"

"Tasha?"

"Right. I'll be leaving for a mission tomorrow and gonna be away for a while. Keep me updated – or else, I _will_ kill you."

* * *

**Day 37**

"Hey, Tasha, it's Tony. Just wanted to let you know that I found him. I haven't told the others, yet. I'm gonna try talk to him tomorrow, so if I'm not there when you get back, I'm either dead cos he killed me or on the run from you cos I botched it."


	22. Fly Away Home

So sorry for the long silence between this chapter and the previous one! That's what happens when life - well, happens. First, I had a cold and found myself incapable of thinking properly (not ideal when you wanna write a story, so I took a break) and then - Fantasy Filmfest. 10 days, 2 cinemas, 71 movies of which I watched 45. When you're at the movies from 1pm to 1am straight, with barely half an hour between most of the movies, you don't have much time to write.

As for this chapter, obviously, it's pretty short. The next one will be much, much longer. I'm still working on it, it's kinda tricky to get done, so it might take a few days before I post it. Anyways, thanks for all the follows and favourites!**  
**

* * *

**Fly Away Home**

"You're moving."  
Tony stared at the boxes. They occupied every free space on the floor and furniture except for two paths to the kitchenette and bedroom door. And a corner of the couch.

"Nah. I like living out of boxes."  
The Hawk smirked at them and started putting the beer-bottles from the paper bag in the fridge.

Tony decided to remain where he was: by the door, blocking the way out. Not that the Hawk didn't have about half a dozen other ways out of here. There were windows, for example …

The Hawk shot him an amused look, almost as if he had read Tony's thoughts.

Tony shifted his weight to his other foot and put his hands in his pockets. On the way here, he had made up about a dozen speeches, found countless arguments he could use to convince the archer to return to Avengers Tower with him. Okay, so they all boiled down to "we miss you, please come back" – but that was a valid point, too, wasn't it?

It had seemed like such a simple plan: come here, talk to the Hawk, take him back home. But now, his clever arguments didn't sound so clever anymore and besides, the man obviously had already made up his mind not to stay here.

Having finished with the beer-bottles, the Hawk turned around to lean against the fridge and folded his arms across his chest. Not a hostile stance but not exactly inviting conversation, either.

When the silence started to grow awkward, Tony cleared his throat.  
"So …"  
He craned his neck so he could peer into one of the boxes that were still open. CDs. Lots of them.  
"I didn't know you like music", he said.  
He winced. Yes, a really lame remark like that was definitely worthy of a genius.  
"I mean, of course, everyone likes or dislikes some kind of music. I just didn't know –"  
He stopped before he could say something even more embarrassing.

"There's a lot you don't know about me."  
The Hawk's steady gaze was hard to read.

"Obviously."

Tony let his gaze wander to finally take a closer look at the Hawk's nest. It was the kind of apartment that, in TV shows, usually was inhabited by a broke and alcoholic ex-cop with a grudge on life in general. He doubted that the distinct used look was the latest thing in interior design. Everything – the carpet, the couch, the paint on the wall – was just a little too faded and threadbare. The shelves that lined the walls looked newer, though. They must have held the CDs. Tony also noticed that the windows and frames had been replaced and the door was probably sturdier than it looked, too.

Of course, the Hawk was away pretty often and for quite extended periods. He wouldn't want anyone to break in and steal his stuff while he was away.

He was still leaning against the fridge, still with his arms across his chest and that same look in his eyes.

Tony took in a deep breath.  
"Listen, it probably wasn't the best idea for me to come here but I'm here now, so – is there anything I can do?"

Anything that would make the Hawk come back to Avengers Tower – that was what he meant and he was pretty sure that also was what the archer understood.

"Hm? – Well, you could help me move all those boxes tomorrow."

Right. He didn't want to talk about it. Fine.

"Great."  
Tony plastered his best "let's get going"-smile on his face and rubbed his hands.  
"Since I don't think you're hiding a guest room somewhere in the non-existent depths of your nest, I'll take the couch."

The Hawk gave him an amused look.  
"Or you could just sleep in your own bed and come back here tomorrow", he said.

"Yeah, right. To find that you and your boxes have suddenly disappeared and this time, really without a trace."  
Tony shook his head.  
"Sorry, mate, but I'm staying."

Not that they didn't both know that, if he wanted to do so, the Hawk could still sneak out in the middle of the night without waking Tony.

* * *

Tony woke up with a start. He didn't know where he was – which was such a cliché, really: to wake up in a strange, dark place with no recollection of where you were or how you had got there. Not really the first time it happened to him but usually, when it did, he felt more hung-over.

Tony pulled the blanket that covered him off his chest. His arc reactor gave off enough of a glow so that he could make out his immediate surroundings.

Boxes. He saw boxes.

_Right. And I'm on the couch in the Hawk's nest._

Tony closed his eyes. And opened them again.

The Hawk. Was he still here?

_Better check._

Tony got up and in the dim glow of his arc reactor, slowly made his way to the bedroom door. He bumped into boxes more than once.

The bedroom, too, was filled with boxes. The bed was empty but had been slept in. No sounds from the bathroom.

Tony sighed. Now he knew what had woken him. And where to find the archer.


	23. My First, My Last, My Everything

Aaaand another chapter. Sorry for the long break again. Obviously, the Hawk doesn't like to talk about this time in his life ...

Note: I'll be on vacation for a few weeks, so I don't know how much writing I'll get done but I'll try my best to update. :)

* * *

**My First, My Last, My Everything**

Of course, the Hawk was up on the roof, perched near the edge, his arms resting on his knees. He was looking out over the city and didn't move but Tony knew his presence had been noted.

He slowly approached him.

It was cool out here. A slight breeze carried the sounds and smells of the city up to the roof.

"I think I'll call you Gabriel from now on", Tony said when he stopped next to the Hawk.

The archer glanced at him.

"Yeah, you know –"  
Tony put his hands on the sill the other man was perched on.  
"The way you're sitting there, you really look like Gabriel from that movie. 'The Prophecy'."

The Hawk snorted but didn't comment.

Tony turned to look the same way he did and leaned forward. The cool breeze felt good on his face.

Somewhere in the vicinity, the siren of a police car went off.

He wanted to talk. There were so many things he wanted to ask. Why the archer had left so suddenly, for example. He didn't know how to start, though. Under different circumstances, it would have been hilarious. Tony Stark at a loss for words – wasn't that really unheard of?

In the end, he decided to take the direct approach.

"Why did you run away?" he asked.

The Hawk glanced at him.  
"Why do you think I ran away?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it was how you just walked out of the room and were gone without telling anyone where you were going or how long you'd be gone. Or how no one could find you – not even Fury, Mr. Super-Spy of Super-Spies."  
Tony realized he sounded a lot more upset than he had meant to.  
"Goddammit, we were worried about you. _I_ was worried about you."

Which really said a lot because he wasn't usually one to worry about stuff.

The Hawk lowered his head and closed his eyes.  
"I know", he said. "I'm sorry. I –"

"Let me guess: It's complicated."  
Tony did his best to keep the sharpness out of his voice.

It was a well-known fact of life, after all, that things were never easy. It really wasn't the Hawk's fault. Tony also knew that there weren't always answers. He still hoped he would get some.

The archer turned his head to look at him.

"It's also a kinda long story", he said.

Tony shrugged.  
"If you want a drink to go along with your story, I think there's some beer in the fridge."

The Hawk laughed.  
"Maybe later."  
He grew serious again.  
"Well, you've been warned."

He didn't start immediately, though. It probably took him a while, Tony assumed, to sort his thoughts. He didn't mind. As far as he was concerned, they had all the time in the world. Besides, as long as the Hawk kept talking, he wouldn't be going anywhere, right?

"So – as you already know I ran away and joined a circus when I was a kid. That's where I learned how to shoot – guy named Trickshot took me under his wing. Also taught me some acrobatics."

Tony nodded. He had assumed as much.

"What happened?" he asked.

The Hawk shrugged.  
"Life, I guess. Everything was okay for a while. Then, one day, I found out they were screwing me over in every way you can probably imagine. So I – left."

Tony would have bet his Ferrari it hadn't been quite as quick and easy as that – neither for the archer nor the others involved. He didn't say anything, though.

"I didn't know what to do next, what with my kinda patchy education and all. So I went and joined the army. That worked out really well."  
The Hawk's voice was dripping with sarcasm. He gave Tony an amused glance.  
"Obviously, I got a problem with authority figures."

Tony laughed.  
"No kidding."

"Yeah, well, except for guys like Coulson or Fury. Let's put it like this: I got a problem with following orders from people that don't seem to know what they're talking about."

"Same here", Tony said and frowned. "Only that I don't follow orders at all, actually. Well, except Pepper's. But I don't like those army-types, either. Except for Rhodey, that is. He's okay."

The Hawk nodded.  
"Yeah, some of those guys are. Too few, though."

"Hey, tell you what: I'll introduce you to Rhodey. And I'll tell him to bring his suit."

"What, he's got one, too?"

"Yup. With a few extras."

The Hawk raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

Tony shook his head.  
"You'll see."

At least, he hoped so. Maybe the promise of introducing him to Rhodey and his suit was enough to make the archer consider returning to the tower with Tony. Or at least, to visit them, now and then. Just because the man had decided to pack his stuff and leave, that didn't mean he'd have to disappear from their lives completely, did it?

_You're grasping at straws,_ a tiny voice whispered at the back of his mind.

He ignored it.

"What happened next?" he asked to get the Hawk back on track. "Did you join SHIELD?"

"No. That came later. First, I found myself looking for a job. Of course, people weren't exactly falling over each other to offer me one. At least, not the kind of job I was looking for. So I just had to take what I could get."  
The Hawk shifted a little. If Tony hadn't known he could perch like this for hours, he would have thought the man looked just a little uncomfortable.  
"At first, it was just stuff like keeping a lookout or driving the getaway car or things like that. Then, break-ins. Surveillance. Then, someone noticed how good I was with a bow and arrow – or a sniper rifle. That was when people started to hire me to kill other people. I never asked and I didn't really care, either. Just got the jobs done as fast as possible."

The look he gave Tony clearly was a challenge. Tony obviously was supposed to be horrified or something like that. Thing was – he wasn't.

"If you want me to tell you what a cold-blooded bastard you are, you're looking at the wrong man", he said. "I'm the guy people used to call the Merchant of Death, remember? And they did so for a very good reason."

Fact was, they all had more than just a little blood on their hands. Only some of them, like Rogers, for example, had an easier time to justify it to themselves than others. Rogers had been killing people who, as every sane person would agree, had been bad guys. Tony didn't want to know how many innocent people had been killed by weapons he had come up with.

A second, longer look hit him, then the Hawk turned away again.

"Anyways – those kill-jobs got me on SHIELD's radar", he continued. "I didn't know, then, but Coulson told me later the only reason they didn't approach me was because they couldn't make up their mind whether to recruit me or kill me."  
The corners of his mouth curved upward slightly.  
"They even might have managed to have me killed, you know? I was good, back then, but not as good as I'm now. Way too full of myself. You know how, when you're young and good at something, you feel like you're invincible?"

Tony nodded. He remembered when he had been young enough to feel like that. Heck, he'd always been feeling like that – right until he had realized he was slowly dying of palladium-poisoning and there was nothing he could do about it. Because the one thing that was slowly killing him also was the one thing that kept him alive. He resisted the urge to reach up and touch his arc reactor. He had managed to fix that, hadn't he?

"So that's how you got into being an assassin", he said to stop himself from thinking about it any further. "But how did you get into SHIELD? And pardon my frankness but what the hell does all of that have to do with you running away a good month ago?"

The Hawk smirked and opened his mouth to answer. Tony raised his hand to stop him.

"Right, I swear if you go all Yoda on me now and tell me that 'patience he must learn', I'll push you off the roof."

"You're right. I'm stalling. Sorry 'bout that. It's just –"  
Again, the Hawk shifted slightly.  
"Well, it's not easy to talk about this."

"You don't have to", Tony pointed out.

"But I want to."  
The Hawk took in a deep breath.  
"Right. Basically, I ran away because of Bobbi."

"Bobbi?"

"My wife."

Tony blinked.

_Wait a second. Did he just say –_

No. He must have misheard that. Surely, the Hawk hadn't said "wife" but rather "girlfriend" or something like that.

"Excuse me, but did you just say that you're married?" he asked just to make sure.

"Was."

"Ah."

Something stopped Tony from enquiring further. He had a feeling he was going to learn more anyways.

"That's why I told you all that other stuff", the Hawk went on. "Cos you gotta know what kind of person I was, back then, to understand the rest."  
The Hawk took in another deep breath.  
"Right. There was this job. They got me into a security company cos they needed me to get close to someone who wasn't easily accessible otherwise. That's where I met Bobbi. The company partnered her with me to show me the ropes and, well …"

Tony smiled.

"You liked her, huh?" he said when the Hawk didn't continue.

The archer nodded.  
"Quite a lot, actually. There was something about her …"  
He shook his head.  
"Before I knew what was happening, I was head over heels in love with her. And she with me – or rather, the person she thought I was. So the only right thing to do was to tell her the truth, wasn't it? About who I really was and why I had started to work for her company. I fully expected her to walk out on me but you know what? She didn't."  
The Hawk smiled now, too. His gaze was still directed at the city but Tony could tell he didn't actually see any of it.  
"Instead, she told me that if I wanted to get out, it was up to me. So that was what I did. I left, just like that. And she came with me. I tried to cover our tracks as well as I could. Somewhere along the way, we got married. – No, not in Vegas, stop grinning, Stark."

Tony ignored the glare he got. He grew serious again.  
"You said she was your wife – that means at some point she – well, stopped being your wife, doesn't it?"

The Hawk didn't answer.

"What happened, Feathers?" Tony asked.

"We found a place that was large enough so that new arrivals wouldn't draw too much attention but small enough that I'd notice if someone appeared to be watching us. Or so I thought. For about a year or so, everything was just fine. I even found a job. Then, one day, I came home and found Bobbi at the bottom of the stairs, dead. Her neck was broken. Of course, they all thought it had been an accident. That she had tripped and fallen. But I knew that wasn't what had happened. Someone had found us and killed her."

That last part had come out in a rush, as if the Hawk wanted to get it over with as fast as possible.

Tony didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. That he was sorry? Well, he didn't have to tell him that, did he? And anything else would have been just the same meaningless crap people usually spouted on such occasions.

The archer didn't speak, either. He had both his arms wrapped around his knees and was resting his chin on them.

The city below was relatively quiet. No more sirens in the distance, only the sounds of traffic.


	24. There And Back Again

Ok, not my best chapter but at least, the "Bobbi-complex" is now wrapped up. :) Well, almost ... There'll be another one - later. Meanwhile, tune in again to see what watching "The Bourne Legacy" triggered in that weird brain of mine ...**  
**

* * *

**There And Back Again**

Tony finally broke the silence.  
"So – Bobbi, huh?"

"Yes."

"Short for Roberta, I assume?"

The Hawk shook his head and smiled.  
"No. Short for Barbara."

"Really?" Tony's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Now, that's kinda unique."

"She was."

The archer seemed more relaxed now that he had told his story. He didn't say any more, so obviously, he was finished.

After a while, the silence grew too long. At least, for Tony. And besides, he still had some questions.

"You said Bobbi was the reason you ran away, but –" Tony shrugged. "I don't quite see the connection, to be honest."

The Hawk smirked.  
"Look a little closer. You're a genius – sure you can see the pattern if you try a little harder."

Tony gave an indignant huff.  
"I can just go back to bed, you know?"

The Hawk nodded.  
"You're right. It's too early in the morning to play games."  
He sighed.

"Remember when I said that nothing lasts forever?"

Tony nodded. That had been pretty early in their acquaintance but he did remember.

"Well, it's true, whether you want to acknowledge it or not. People change. People – they die, sooner or later, cos no one's immortal."  
The Hawk flashed Tony a smile.  
"Except for Thor, maybe, but I guess even he dies when you chop his head off or something like that."

He grew serious again.  
"Thing is, even though we know each other so well and work together as a team most of the time, I've always managed to keep a certain distance to Tasha. Whenever she leaves on a solo mission – whenever I lose sight of her in a fight – I'm well aware it might be the last time I've seen her alive. I can live with that. Well, I could, until now. It worked just fine those past few years. But with you guys, I've been starting to lose that distance. I've been letting you get too close to me – and I've been getting too close to you. Too – attached."

The archer shook his head.  
"Gods, I sound like one of those blasted shrinks from SHIELD."

"I think I get the picture", Tony said. "I mean, considering that we're not exactly working the world's safest job, what with stopping half an alien invasion every other week and so on …"

And with knowing what he did about the Hawk and his past – the shitty upbringing and what he had just been told about his wife – it wasn't surprising the man didn't want to get too attached to a bunch of people that might all be dead tomorrow.

The Hawk nodded.  
"I'm really sorry for just disappearing like that. I had to get away – I needed to be alone for a while so I could think. Figure out what to do."

"Judging from all those boxes, you did", Tony said.

And if the decision was to leave, Tony knew he wouldn't stop him. Not after what he had just been told. If that was what the man wanted …

"How did you get here?" the archer suddenly asked. "Don't tell me you used public transportation. Or parked your car somewhere 'round here."  
He looked slightly alarmed at that.

Tony shook his head.

"I had Happy drop me off down the street. I told him I'd call him when I needed him to pick me up again."

"Never mind. I can take you back to the tower tomorrow."  
The Hawk threw a last sweeping glance over the city, then slid off the ledge.  
"How about we have those beers now?" he asked with a grin.

Tony laughed.  
"Sure, why not?"

* * *

"So, do you already know where you wanna go?" he asked when they were sitting on the couch, each with a bottle of cold beer they were sipping from.

The Hawk nodded.  
"Yeah. And you can spare yourself the trouble of trying to change my mind."  
He gave Tony a stern look.  
"Cos I won't. I had enough time to think it all through."

"Fine."  
Tony raised his free hand in a gesture of submission.  
"Can't blame me for asking."

The Hawk smiled.  
"Right", he agreed. "But I don't have to give you an answer."

Tony shrugged.  
"Was worth a try."

So the Hawk didn't want to tell, which obviously also meant he wanted to keep his distance from them. It didn't matter. Tony would find out on his own, sooner or later. Not that he was going to bug and pester the guy – but it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on him, would it, just in case he ran into some trouble and needed – well, friends.

He emptied his bottle in one long draught.

"Let's go back to sleep", he said. "It's gonna be a busy day tomorrow."

* * *

They got up again a few hours later. It took them a while to move all the boxes to the van the Hawk had rented but in the end, they set out for Avengers Tower all too soon. Tony tried to think of something to say but just as the previous night couldn't come up with anything. Maybe he shouldn't have come for the Hawk himself. Maybe he should have sent Pepper. Or Banner. Or someone else who was better than him at finding the right words.

They arrived at Avengers Tower all too soon. The Hawk stopped the van.

"So – there we are", Tony said.

"No kidding."  
The Hawk looked at him, obviously waiting for him to get out of the car so he could continue to wherever he had decided to go.

Tony hesitated. He ought to say something. Wish the archer luck – or something like that. Tell him he could always count on them. Whatever.

"Thanks for dropping me off", was all he could come up with, though.

He hated goodbyes. Usually, he kept them as short as possible. No need to prolong this, either. So he just nodded at the Hawk, got out of the van and walked away from it, towards the tower.

He didn't get very far.

"Hey!" the Hawk called after him.

Tony turned.

"You just gonna walk off and let me deal with all those boxes on my own or what?"  
The archer gave Tony a mock glare.

Tony frowned.  
"What do you mean?" he asked.

The Hawk threw his hands in the air.  
"And I almost believed you when you said you were a genius."  
He pointed at the van.  
"Boxes. Out of car. Into elevator. Up there."  
He pointed again, this time up the tower.  
"Get it? Or do I need to write it down for you?"

"Oh."  
And then, the penny really dropped for Tony.  
"Oh! You – you're moving in _here_!"

The Hawk nodded.  
"Yeah. As I said, I thoroughly thought this through and, well, I can just as well give it a go as not, right? If it doesn't work out, I can always –"

"Run away again?" Tony suggested with a grin.

"Something like that, yeah."  
The archer turned away to open the van's rear door.  
"So are you helping me now or what?"

"Got a better idea."  
Tony took his phone from his pocket and switched it on.  
"Jarvis? Send the others down to the tower's front entrance, will you? Barton and I need some help here."  
He barely waited for Jarvis to acknowledge before he put his phone away again.  
"You'll probably need more shelves in that room of yours …"


	25. Mystery Woman

... which shows beautifully what happens in my mind when I watch "The Bourne Legacy" ...**  
**

* * *

**Mystery Woman**

Steve hadn't paid too much attention to the dark-haired woman. It registered with him that she was pretty but that was about it. She hadn't paid any attention to them, either – until she had almost passed them. That was when, suddenly, she stopped and turned.

"Aaron?" she asked.

Steve thought she had been talking to him, until he saw she was looking at Barton. Staring, actually. The way you stared at someone you hadn't thought you'd ever see again.

Barton ignored her and kept walking. Since they had to wait for the lights to turn green to cross the street, though, the woman didn't have a very hard time to catch up with them.

"Aaron Cross!"  
She seized Barton's arm.  
"I thought you were dead!"

Now, Barton had to react. He did so by turning to her and frowning.

"Who?" he asked.

The look on the woman's face changed from surprise to confusion.

"You're Aaron Cross", she said.

Barton shook his head.  
"No, ma'am, sorry. Most definitely not."

"But you look exactly like him! Well, a few years older but –"

"I am _not_ Aaron Cross", Barton cut her off sharply. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Without waiting for the lights, he rushed across the street. Several cars had to brake to avoid hitting him.

The woman stared after him.

"Uh, sorry", Steve told her. "He's usually not like this ..."

The woman frowned.  
"He _is_ Aaron Cross, no matter what he might say", she said, more to herself.

Steve smiled at her.  
"Sorry again but – no. He –"

But the woman wasn't listening. She had already turned and started to walk away.

Steve waited for the lights to turn and when they did, hurried after Barton.

"What was that all about?" he asked when he had caught up with him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were running from her."

Barton shrugged.  
"She was getting on my nerves", he said.

"And that's why you risk getting hit by a car?"

"She was getting on my nerves a lot, okay? And you're starting to do so, too."  
Barton glared at him.  
"Let it go, Cap."

"Okay."

They kept walking. Barton kept throwing glances at Steve. Finally, he sighed and stopped.

"You won't, will you?" he asked.

"What?"  
Steve gave him his best innocent look.

Barton snorted.  
"What do you think? Let this go, of course. You'll try to find out more."

"No, I won't", Steve said.

"Not yourself. But you'll mention this to Tony and he'll want to find out more and so he'll start digging around until he comes up with something."

Steve could feel he was blushing.  
"Well ..."

Barton shook his head.  
"Really, in your own way, you're just as bad as him."

"I'm not!"

"Just as nosy", Barton went on as if he hadn't heard him. "Only that you're more polite about it."

"Well, try to see this from my point of view. A mysterious woman suddenly shows up and calls you Aaron. And is absolutely convinced you're Aaron. And you pretend you don't know her even though it's pretty clear you do. What am I supposed to think?"

Barton shrugged.  
"That she mistook me for someone else?"

Steve gave him a doubting look.

"Happens all the time."  
Barton started walking again.  
"People who mistake people for other people."

"Still not convinced."  
Steve followed him.

"It's classified."

"Won't stop Stark."

He almost felt guilty for pushing the item. Almost. Stark was definitely having a bad influence on him.

On the other hand, he told himself, Barton was a teammate. What if whatever he didn't want to tell them about this woman would come back at him some time later and put him in danger? Or the whole team?

Again, Barton stopped and sighed.  
"Okay, okay. I'll call Fury once we're back home and get clearance to tell you. And the others. There, satisfied?"

Steve tried not to grin but he didn't manage.  
"Let's go, then."


	26. The Bourne Connection

And here's how it all clicks together - at least, in my twisted little mind. :D**  
**

* * *

**The Bourne Connection**

Barton must have talked to Fury right away, for the very same evening, he gathered them all in the living area.

"I guess Steve's told you all what happened earlier today", he said.

Steve nodded, and so did the others.

"Right."  
Barton took in a deep breath.  
"Fact is – yes, I am Aaron Cross."

"Hah!"  
Steve blushed when everyone suddenly was looking at him.  
"Sorry, it's just – I expected this."  
He gestured at Barton to continue.

"All of this happened back in 2005", the archer went on as if he hadn't been interrupted. "It was my first big undercover mission for SHIELD. I mean – really big. I don't know if you caught any of it but at that time, there were several black ops programs run by – I'm not really sure, actually, Fury never told me. But the CIA might have been involved. Wouldn't be surprised if they were. Anyways, one of them was called Treadstone. A guy named Jason Bourne caused them a lot of trouble. The one SHIELD had got me into was called Outcome. It was –"

He glanced at Steve.

"Well, let's say some kind of supersoldier program. They used different stems of viruses and genetic engineering to enhance people both physically and mentally. SHIELD of course wanted to know everything about it. However, due to that Bourne-guy, the folks who ran the program decided to shut it down."

"Let me guess", Tony said. "'Shut down' didn't mean 'tell everybody goodbye and send them home', right?"

Barton nodded.  
"Right. In this case, they decided the best thing to do would be to kill all the test subjects and the involved scientists. I got away – and so did that woman we met in the street today."  
He looked at Steve.  
"Her name's Marta. Dr. Marta Shearing. Or rather, it used to be. I don't think she still goes by that name."

"She said she thought you were dead", Steve pointed out.

"Yes. As I explained, we were the only two survivors from that project – except for the people who were behind it all, obviously. Of course, I could have gone back to SHIELD. But I wanted to bring them samples of the meds they were giving us. I didn't know, then, that they were actually using viruses to – well, implant us with DNA to enhance us. That's what Marta explained to me."

Barton paused a moment, probably to see if they were still following.

Steve wasn't really. That talk about viruses and DNA kinda went over his head. But he got the supersoldier comparison. Basically, that project had tried to make people stronger and smarter and obviously, it had been a success.

"Basically, there were two kinds of pills: green ones for the physical part and blue ones for the mental part", Barton went on. "After they'd tried to kill me, I knew I had to get out of there. I wanted to bring samples of both to SHIELD but had run out of the green pills and was running out of blue ones, too. So my best bet was to find the one surviving scientist and get her to give me more of that stuff. Well, turned out she didn't have any. But she told me that they had already injected me with the virus to make the physical enhancements permanent. And that we could find the other virus in Manila. So that's where we went."

He rubbed his neck.

"I'm not gonna bore you with the details. We managed to get our hands on that second virus, she injected me, I got so sick I thought I'd die but we still managed to get away from the killers they'd sent after us. After that, I set her up with a new identity and then, arranged for SHIELD to 'catch' me so she'd think I were dead and move on with her new life."

Again, Barton stopped and looked at them.

"So you're what?" Tony asked. "A super-smartass with super-strength?"

The archer shook his head.  
"I was for a while. Not anymore, though."

"Something went wrong", Steve guessed.

"Yes. That 'blue' virus was still – let's say, a prototype. They hadn't managed to get all the kinks out. I returned to SHIELD, their scientists took my blood – bloody vampires, all of them – and tried to figure out what exactly those other blokes had done. Then, things started to go wrong. Only slight headaches at first but they soon got worse."

Barton shrugged.

"Turned out that 'blue' virus was out of control and changing stuff it wasn't supposed to change. Luckily, SHIELD's got some pretty darn amazing scientists on their payroll or else, I wouldn't be here now. They figured out what was going on and found a way to counter it. Unfortunately, it also countered the effects of the 'green' virus, so most of the enhancement's gone now."

He looked at Tony.  
"Or in your words, I'm just a little smarter and a little stronger than I used to be. Enough to make me one of SHIELD's finest, though."  
He grinned at that.

Steve needed a few moments to let this story sink in. So did the others, obviously, for they remained silent, too.

"Will you try to find her and tell her you're still around and kicking?" Tony finally asked.

"Who? Marta?"  
Barton shook his head.  
"No. It's better that she keeps thinking Aaron Cross is dead. He is, after all. Well, kind of."

Tony opened his mouth, probably to ask another question but he didn't get to it.

"You've been cheating!" Tasha suddenly burst out.

Her glare would have made everyone who didn't know her back away in terror.

Barton simply frowned.  
"Cheating?"

"Yes. In training. You've been cheating."  
Tasha closed the distance between them and stabbed her index finger at him accusingly.  
"You could only keep up with me the way you did because of those enhancements."  
She frowned, too.  
"In fact, you could only catch me –"

"Because Coulson came up with a cunning plan to catch a deadly spider", Barton interrupted her. "That one wasn't actually my idea, you know?"

"Still – in training, you cheated."  
Tasha folded her arms across her chest.

"Fine, fine. I cheated. Sorry for that."

Barton gave her an exasperated look.  
"If that's all you're worried about –"

"No", Tasha said. "But I guess SHIELD's science department got it all under control or else, you wouldn't be allowed out in the field."

"Well, since they give me a complete and thorough check-up every six months, they better have it all under control cos if they don't, I really don't wanna know what they need all that blood for."

"You said it yourself."  
Tony shrugged.  
"Vampires."

Barton stared at him. Then, he started to laugh. The others, including Steve, joined him.

The archer grew serious again.

"Right, people, I didn't only tell you all this cos I knew Tony wouldn't rest until he had found out everything about Aaron Cross", he said. "You know the story now. If something should go wrong – with me, I mean – go and find Marta. She knows more about this whole shit than anyone else. SHIELD's got great scientists and all but Marta's the one with the inside knowledge."

"Who would we look for?" Steve asked.

Barton rubbed his neck.  
"Well, she might have changed her name again but you might want to start with June Monroe and go from there."

June Monroe. Steve repeated the name in his mind several times so he'd remember it. Of course, he hoped he wouldn't need to but you never knew.


	27. Sunflower Fields Forever

This took longer than I thought. I wanted to finish and post something else, first, but decided this was more fun. Inspired by a prompt on AvengersKink. *gg* Also, stay tuned for that other short story I just finished, featuring Hawkeye and Black Widow. (Another reason why it took me so long to post this here.)**  
**

* * *

**Sunflower Fields Forever**

"I got him", Clint told the others.

"Good", Steve answered.

"He isn't smashing stuff or so, is he?" Tony asked. "Cos it seems to be pretty quiet on your side."

"No, he's not smashing things."  
Clint folded his arms across his chest.  
"In fact, he seems quite happy."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"What's he doing?" Tony wanted to know.

Clint grinned.  
"You wouldn't believe me", he said.

"Right."  
Steve again.  
"As long as he's not damaging anything, fine. Wait until he's de-hulked and then, take him back to the quinjet."

"Will do."

The connection went quiet.

"Well … He's not actually damaging stuff but they don't come for free, you know?" the old guy standing next to Clint pointed out.

"I know, but – look how happy he is."  
Clint nodded at the Hulk. The big guy was smiling while he picked more sunflowers.  
"Do you have the heart to tell him to stop? I mean, he's finally found flowers he can pick without crushing …"

The old guy watched the Hulk for a while.

"Someone's still gotta pay for them", he finally said.

Clint nodded.  
"Of course."

* * *

Nick Fury stared at the sheet of paper in his hands. In his years as director of SHIELD, he had seen many things. Fought many a battle, bureaucratic as well as the more physical ones. This here, however, was a first.

"That's – correct me if I'm wrong but – expenses for twenty dozen sunflowers? What the -?"

"Picked by the Hulk", Maria Hill added.

Fury almost admired how she managed to keep a perfectly straight face.

"Who handed this in?" he demanded and immediately went on: "No, let me guess. Stark?"

"Barton."

Barton. Not entirely unknown for pulling a prank now and then. Though those more often than not involved him collaborating with Romanoff to scare the heck out of new recruits. This sunflower-thing wasn't his usual style.

Fury glared at Hill.  
"Let me guess again: He was grinning."

"He also gave me one of the sunflowers. Courtesy the Hulk."

Fury's one good eye narrowed.  
"One."

"Yes, sir."

"So what happened to the other two hundred and thirty-nine?"

* * *

"You know –"  
Tony cast a long look at Avengers Tower's living area.  
"I really feel like I'm living in that Van Gogh painting."

"Let me guess."  
Clint dropped on the couch and put his feet on the couch table.  
"Not the one featuring the stars."

"I'm really sorry, guys."  
Banner took off his glasses and started to wipe them with the hem of his shirt.  
"I can't control the Other Guy. Not really. I mean, most of the time, I don't even remember –"

"Nonono, it's great!" Tony cut him off. "So bright and cheerful. I like it. It's like –"

"- living in the mind of a slightly demented artist with an unhealthy fixation on sunflowers?" Clint suggested.

Tony grinned.  
"If you think _this_ is bad, wait till you see _your_ room."

"My –"  
Clint jumped to his feet and dashed out of the room.

Banner looked after him.  
"You didn't really decorate his room with sunflowers, did you?" he asked.

"Of course not. I'm not suicidal. But I couldn't let him have the last word, right?"

Banner shook his head and laughed.


	28. Deck the – well, not exactly halls …

Hi all! And sorry for the loooong delay. But after doing NaNoWriMo, it took me a while to get back into Avengers. And then, I had to get ready for Christmas. Getting presents, baking cookies, that kind of stuff. Anyways, here's the next chapter. Enjoy! And - Merry Christmas!**  
**

* * *

**Deck the – well, not exactly halls …**

Tony hated debriefings. They were boring. And a waste of time. He really didn't see the point – Fury had been monitoring their every move. How he still needed a debriefing was a mystery to Tony. It wasn't like he'd been asleep the whole time or something.

Since SHIELD's director insisted on them, though, and since Pepper insisted Tony attended, he was putting the time to good use: last minute Christmas shopping on eBay. The bidding-fight he was currently involved in was much more interesting than listening to the re-telling of how they had beaten the Villain of the Week – they always did, after all – and so it took Tony a moment – might have been two or three, actually – to notice everyone had fallen silent. And was looking at him. Glaring, in Fury's case.

Tony looked up from his phone. Of course, Captain Prim 'n' Proper was rolling his eyes at him. Tasha's look was hard to read, as always. The Hawk – well, he could have been grinning. Hard to tell. Bruce adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.

Fury folded his arms over his chest.  
"Don't let us interrupt you", he said.

"What? Oh, nono, that's okay."  
Tony returned his attention to his phone where the bidding-fight was entering its final stage. He waved his hand at the others.  
"I'm sure the others can do fine without me – just carry on."

Someone – he wasn't quite sure who – made a choking sound.

He should have seen it coming. He was so fixed on the bidding-fight, though, that he didn't. Suddenly, Fury was standing next to him – he swore the man must have teleported across the room because there hadn't been any footsteps – and snatched the phone from him.

"Hey!" Tony protested. "Would you mind –"

"I would", Fury cut him off. "You can have it back after the debriefing. Maybe."

He gave Tony another glare and then, went back to the front of the room.

It was Tony now who folded his arms across his chest.  
"Great, just when I was winning", he mumbled.

Rogers gave him a sharp look. Tony raised his eyebrows at him. Clint was shaking his head slightly but he was still grinning. Well, almost.

* * *

It took another two hours until the debriefing was concluded to Fury's satisfaction. Tony didn't pay any more attention than before and of course, Fury kept his phone. Sneaky, really. If he wanted a Stark phone of his own, he just would have had to say so. Tony would have made another one for him. But no, he just had to take Tony's, hadn't he? Probably to live up to his reputation of being a badass.

"Really, you'd think he'd be in a more charitable mood, considering it's only two more days till Christmas", he said more to himself when they were all walking down the corridor towards the hangar and their quinjet.

Clint laughed.  
"Doesn't make any difference to him", he said.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it's just another day, you know?"

Tony stopped.  
"What – you're telling me you're not celebrating Christmas here?" he asked. "No time off for you people over the holidays, to be with your family?"

"What family?" Tasha asked, walking past him.

"And besides – no rest for the wicked, right?"  
The archer followed her.  
"Remember that one time in Siberia, Nat? When we were snowed in for two weeks, over Christmas and New Year?"

Tasha stopped.  
"Yes."  
She smiled.  
"Very nice."

"Nice? It was cold enough to freeze the vodka!"

Her smile grew wider.

Clint sighed in exasperation.  
"We really gotta work on this, you know?"

"Wait a second. So there's no SHIELD Christmas party?" Tony asked. "No Fury in a Santa hat? No decorations, no – well, nothing?"

At the mention of a Santa hat on Nick Fury's head, Tasha and Barton both turned and looked at him as if he'd suggested sacrificing a baby to some dark deity.

"Do you see any Christmas decorations here?" Tasha asked and gestured at the bare walls.

"Fine." Tony raised his hands. "No Santa hat. I get it."

They went on in silence.

"Shame, though", Tony said when they reached the quinjet. "That flight deck's large enough to accommodate not only Santa and Rudolf but also a whole army of elves."

The Hawk laughed.  
"You know, I'd pay quite some money to see that."

"Yes, only that no one's suicidal enough to try", Tasha pointed out.

Tony and Clint looked at each other. Tony knew the archer was thinking the exact same thing as him. They both grinned.

Rogers slowly shook his head.  
"Oh no, you won't."

"Of course not."  
Tony raised his eyebrows.  
"We're not suicidal, are we, Feathers?"

* * *

Nick Fury was accustomed to be woken by a great many things and to a great many emergencies when he was on the helicarrier. Blaring sirens, attacking aliens, urgent calls by the WSC, an unannounced visit by the president. Waking up to "We wish you a Merry Christmas" playing over the helicarrier's PA system was new.

For a moment, he considered he might still be sleeping and dreaming. By the time "We wish you a Merry Christmas" faded into "Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer", he had to acknowledge this was really happening.

Someone – Stark, he assumed, would be the most likely and only candidate – had hacked the PA system.

"Very funny", Fury huffed.

He didn't know that there still was more to come.

The Christmas songs accompanied him all the way to the bridge. Of course, he had ordered the tech department to shut the music down but since this indeed was Stark's doing, he had been told it would take a while.

Fury stepped on the bridge – and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Hill", he said.

Maria Hill who was just checking on something displayed on a monitor turned at him.

"Sir?"

"What's that?"

Hill followed the direction of his gaze. She straightened and clasped her hands on her back, all business.

"It seems to be a Christmas tree, sir."

Fury nodded  
"Figures."

He approached the giant fir tree that had been put up by the large panorama window. Some of the ornaments were rather unusual. He discovered a tiny helicarrier. Christmas balls bearing colours and symbols he immediately associated with the Avengers. And at the top –

"Hill", he said once more.

"Yes, sir?"  
She joined him before the tree.

"Is that me, at the top of the tree?" he asked. "Mini-me, wearing a Santa hat and golden wings?"

There was a short pause. He glanced at Hill. She was obviously searching for the right words. The corners of her mouth, he noticed, were twitching slightly. He thought he heard a very, very soft giggle behind his back. He chose to ignore it.

"It indeed seems to be you", Hill finally said. "As far as I can tell from here."

Fury turned around at the bridge crew. They were all trying very hard not to grin and to concentrate on their monitors. A small group, he now noticed, was gathered around one of the monitors at the far end of the room. The one that usually showed the flight deck.

Fury strode over to them. They shrank away from the monitor. It was still showing the flight deck. Fury realized that there wouldn't be any flights leaving the helicarrier today. The flight deck was occupied.

"Santa", he pointed out. "And his sleigh."

"Yes, sir. And a lot of parcels."

And Christmas lights. It actually looked like the Hulk had gone on a rampage – only that, instead of smashing things, he had put up Christmas lights. There were trees, stars, snowflakes, everything you could think of, blinking merrily in green and red and yellow and blue and every other colour you could probably imagine.

Again, Fury nodded.

He turned round at Hill and took in a deep breath.  
"All of this wasn't here last night when I went to bed", he said.

"Yes, sir."

"That was six hours ago."

Hill nodded.

"So – how the hell did they do this?"

Hill shrugged.  
"We don't know. The records from the security cameras have been wiped."

"Of course. – Stark?"

"Romanoff, we suppose."

Yes, of course. It would have been a joint venture. Stark was good but not _that_ good.

Fury turned away and started walking towards his office.

"What do you want us to do regarding the decorations?" Hill asked. "Should we remove them – and the tree?"

Fury shook his head.  
"Leave everything as it is. I got a better idea."

He smiled.

Hill took a step back.

* * *

When Tony entered the common area later that day, he found Clint and Bruce there, eyeing a pile of brightly-wrapped parcels. Tony stopped and frowned.

"Those weren't here last night when we got home", he said.

Due to their nightly mission of bringing some Christmas cheer to the helicarrier, they had all slept in late. It was early afternoon now and though Tony still was tired, he knew for a fact he was right about the parcels.

"They were already here two hours ago when I got up."  
Rogers joined them. Tasha was trailing behind him.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Looks like Santa decided to pay us a visit while we were sleeping", Clint said.

They exchanged a look.

"We should get rid of them", Tasha suggested, slowly stepping closer. "We don't know who put them here. There could be all kinds of nasty things in those parcels."

The archer nodded.

"Sir, incoming call from the helicarrier", Jarvis announced just then.

They all looked at each other.

Probably Fury, Tony assumed. By now, he would have discovered the tree and decorations. Actually, he would have done so hours ago. That he had waited until now to contact them didn't bode well.

Tony lead the way to the large viewscreen he had installed a few months ago for just such occasions.

He was fully expecting to see a – well, furious Nick Fury when the screen lit up. SHIELD's director ready to rip their heads off. At least verbally. What he got, though, was a Nick Fury who gave them all the brightest smile he had ever seen on the man. The Hawk and Tasha exchanged another, alarmed look.

"Director Fury", Steve said.

Fury nodded at him, still with that smile on his face. It made him look – human. The effect, Tony had to admit, was really starting to creep him out.

"I see you found the presents I sent."  
Fury's voice was oozing Christmas cheer.

Tony found himself glancing around for an escape route.

"When I saw your excellent work on the helicarrier I thought I ought to send you a little something, too", Fury went on. "So – a very merry Christmas to you!"

The screen went blank again.

Again, Tasha and Clint glanced at each other, then they quickly moved over to the parcels and took one each. Tony watched how they carefully examined the wrapping. Barton shook his slightly. Tasha put an ear to hers.

Rogers frowned.  
"What are you doing?" he asked.

The archer took the next parcel from the pile.  
"Looking for bombs."

"Good idea."  
Tony joined them.

"Aren't you over-dramatizing things?" Banner asked.

"Did you see that smile?" Tasha asked back.

Bruce and Steve looked at each other.

Banner shrugged.  
"She does have a point, you know?"

Steve sighed.  
"I guess she does."


	29. Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Plausability check: Yes, it IS possible to shoot ten arrows within ten seconds - and hit the target every time. In fact, there's a video on Youtube showing a guy who's shooting ten arrows within five seconds, using an old technique he claims to have re-discovered. Of course, Hawkeye got the "practice-bonus" and let's also give him the usual superhero-bonus, huh? ;)**  
**

* * *

**Hit Me With Your Best Shot**

A line of targets.

_What the heck ...?_ Tony thought.

Why did those guys need a line of small, round archery targets? They looked out of place in this – well, it looked like a kind of spaceship shuttle hangar but Tony was pretty sure it wasn't, since they were underground and hadn't actually left New York. Not technically speaking, at least. Metaphorically speaking, they definitely weren't in Kansas anymore. Not that they'd ever been there.

Tony took in a deep breath.

_Slow down. Try to come up with something to get us all out of here. Genius, right? You should be able to do that._

Only that he couldn't. Well, maybe one of the others ...

He glanced at them.

The five hostages definitely wouldn't be a great help. Too scared. Cap looked like he was ready to make a stand but Tony wasn't quite sure whether he would be able to stand at all. Whatever those guys had used to knock out Steve, Thor and the Hulk only seemed to work that long on Steve but he still looked to dazed to be of much use. The Hawk had taken a gun-shot to the thigh – and they had taken his bow and arrows – and Tasha was bleeding from a head-wound. Nothing serious, probably, but it meant she, too, couldn't work at top capacity.

_Great. We're screwed._

The door opened.

_Why do they always wear masks?_ Tony wondered.

Before he could voice his thoughts, though, the big masked guy - skin-tight body-suit, belt, boots, cape, all in colours that made you want to tear out your eyes – lifted his arm and pointed at Clint.

"You", he said.

He was using some kind of device that slightly garbled his voice.

Clint raised his eyebrows.  
"Me?"

"Get up."

The archer did as ordered, making a big show of how much of a handicap his injured leg was. Tony made a mental note to suggest him for an Academy Award.

"I will give you a chance to save some of your friends. Or some of the hostages", Ugly Mask said.

"Oh?"  
Clint's eyebrows went higher.

Ugly Mask waved his hand and one of his cronies entered the room carrying the archer's bow and quiver that had been filled with arrows again. He stopped next to his master.

Ugly Mask gestured at the targets.  
"See those targets?"

Clint nodded.

"You will be allowed to leave and take as many persons with you as you can hit targets."  
An evil grin appeared on Ugly Mask's face.  
"To make things more interesting, however, there will be a time limit."

"Time limit?" Clint repeated, eyes firmly set on the targets.

Of course, he must have been wondering the same thing as Tony: Where's the catch?

"Yes. You have ten seconds."

Something about the archer's posture changed. So subtly that Tony was sure Ugly Mask didn't notice. Also, the corner of Clint's mouth twitched. He couldn't say with what, though. Anger? Amusement? Could have been both.

"Am I getting this right, you're giving him ten seconds to hit ten targets?" Tony asked.

"No, I'm giving him ten seconds to hit as many targets as he can and then, choose whom of you he wants to save. The others will die, of course."

"Of course."

Clint didn't say anything. He took his bow and slung the quiver over his shoulder. Then, he walked – limped, actually – over to the targets until he was within easy shooting distance. He tested the string of his bow and nodded.

"Can I at least nock the first arrow before you start the countdown?" he asked.

And from that poor kicked puppy-dog look he gave Ugly Mask, Tony knew something was up. He glanced at Tasha. She had straightened and was watching the archer intently. Not in a nervous kind of way, though. More like "Guys, you gotta see this!".

Ugly Mask gestured at Clint to go ahead and he reached back over his shoulder to pull the first arrow from the quiver and place it on the string.

And then, things went so fast Tony – and the others – had to review the recording (of course there was a recording – there always was when there was a villain as pompous as Ugly Mask) in slow motion to see what exactly was happening.

The countdown started. The first arrow hit the first target. So did arrows two through ten with their respective targets. Arrow eleven embedded itself square in Ugly Mask's chest – Clint must have turned or, more likely, spun round at some point but Tony had missed the exact moment when it had happened – and arrow twelve felled Ugly Mask's crony who had been watching with his mouth hanging open.

The archer lowered his bow and took in a deep breath.

For a moment, there was complete silence. Even Tasha looked impressed, and that was an expression Tony had rarely ever seen on her face before.

It was him who finally broke the silence.  
"So that's what you were doing at the circus, huh?"

Clint nodded.  
"Minus the shooting people, of course. And at twice that speed, but then, I was using a different bow and technique."

Tasha folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow at him.  
"Show-off."

* * *

It didn't occur to Tony, then, that the archer actually might have injured his arm by pulling such a stunt. He only figured that one out later that day, when they were back at Avengers Tower and he came across Clint watching "Home Improvement" re-runs – in German – holding an ice-pack to his left arm.

When Tony asked, Clint just shrugged it off.

"Wrong bow, wrong speed – that bow's not really made for shooting that fast."  
He glanced at his arm.  
"It'll be fine. And even if it wouldn't be – I can live without my arm."

Tony didn't have to be the genius he was to gather what the archer wasn't saying but most definitely thinking: An arm – or any other body-part – was a small price to pay when you managed to save your friends.

"Crossbows", he said.

Clint frowned at him.

Tony nodded.  
"There's crossbows, smaller ones, that you can handle one-handed. I'd definitely look into that option, at least if you plan on pulling more stunts of that sort in the future."

"Tried them. Don't like them. But a blowpipe would be an acceptable option."  
Clint returned his attention to his TV show where Tim Allen was just demonstrating how to turn a dryer into a bomb – of course, he claimed he was repairing it.

Tony left to head to his workshop.

He tried to imagine the Hawk with a blowpipe instead of bow and arrow. He didn't quite manage but he was sure the result would be no less deadly.


	30. Closet Nerds

What it says. :D**  
**

* * *

**Closet Nerds**

Clint studied the blueprints carefully. Something had always struck him as slightly off in Avengers Tower. He'd put it down to him not being used to working with a whole team of people instead of just Tasha and Coulson. And then, to him being uneasy about growing fond of those guys. Now, though, that both those issues had been settled, he knew it was something else.

The blueprints were off. There ought to be more space, on this particular floor, than there actually was. Clint's perception of space in general and especially of distances was pretty good. Had to be.

There was only one possible explanation: Somewhere on this floor, there had to be another room. One without a door. Maybe even without windows.

A hidden room. In Avengers Tower.

It wasn't that he assumed Tony might be working on something dangerous – or secretly wasn't only a superhero but also, a supervillain. He was curious, though. What could Tony – for it had to be his room since he had designed this whole tower – possibly want to hide from them?

And how could he get into that room?

Clint's gaze wandered upwards, towards the ceiling. Towards the metal grille that covered the access to the air ducts.

He smiled.

* * *

In his workshop, Tony was so enthralled in his current project that, at first, he didn't notice the tiny flashing light that indicated a security breach. When he did, however, he immediately dropped what he had been working on.

Someone had managed to get into his room. _The_ room.

_Who the hell –_  
Tony rushed along the corridors and up the stairs. He keyed in his security code. The hidden door slid open.  
_Of course. Who else?_  
Tony glanced at the ceiling. The air duct's cover was missing.  
_Didn't think of that. Sneaky little bugger._

Halfway across the room, Clint was holding a grey and white striped disc of about the size of a frisbee.

"Uh, I'd appreciate if you'd be careful with that", Tony said, stepping closer. "That's the original, you know?"

Clint turned and frowned at him.  
"Original?" he asked. "Not –"

Tony nodded.  
"TRON's identity disc. The original one. From the movie."

Clint stared at the disc in his hands. Then, at the room in general. He probably hadn't taken a proper look at it, yet. The disc would have caught his attention because it was one of the centerpieces.

One of the walls was lined with costumes – much like Tony's Iron Man suits were lined up in his Malibu house.

"That's Darth Vader's costume", Clint said slowly.

Tony nodded.  
"Right next to Han Solo, yes. And before you ask, they're all originals, too."  
He closed the distance between him and the archer and carefully took the TRON-disc from him to put it back in its proper place.  
"I bought them."

Clint slowly turned around, taking in the entire room. His eyes widened. The look on his face changed from slightly puzzled to absolutely awestruck within seconds.

"That isn't a Flynn's Arcade T-shirt, is it?" he asked. "Next to those two arcade games?"

"Space Paranoids and the TRON game."  
Tony couldn't keep his pride of owning those treasures out of his voice.

Clint gave a soft whistle.  
"So, everything in here's an original prop or piece of merchandise?" he asked.

"Yup."  
Tony put his hands in his pockets and smiled.

"Wow."  
Suddenly, Clint stopped.  
"That one, too?"  
He pointed at something behind Tony.

Tony turned. He grinned.  
"That, too."

Clint's eyes lit up.  
"May I –"

"Sit down? Of course."

The archer gave him a look like a kid in a candy store who's just learned he can keep the whole store. He did his best not to hurry over to the chair. Not just some old chair, mind you. James T. Kirk's command chair. The one from the first, the original Enterprise.

Clint slowly lowered himself into the chair and leaned back – almost as if he was afraid it might disintegrate if he wasn't exceedingly careful. It was easy for Tony to spot the reverence of the true fan.

The archer ran his hands over the chair's armrests.  
"This is –"  
He shook his head.  
Suddenly, he straightened.  
"Mr. Sulu, set course for Alpha Centauri, Warp seven!"

Tony laughed.

Clint gave him a slightly sheepish grin.  
"Sorry, always wanted to do that."

"Same here, that's why I spent a small fortune on that chair. Sometimes, being a billionaire – and a genius, of course – comes in quite handy."

Clint leaned back in the chair. He gazed at the room again.  
"You know, I think I'm gonna move in here."

Tony grinned.  
"I didn't know you were one of us, Feathers."

"Us?"

"Us nerds."

Clint folded his hands on his stomach and stretched out his legs.  
"There's a lot you don't know about me."

"Ah-ha!"

"What?" the archer asked with a slight frown.

"You're not denying it, then! You _are_ one of us!"  
Tony beamed at him.

Clint grinned.  
"Takes one to know one, as they say."

He got up and cast one last lingering glance at Kirk's chair. Then, he turned to Tony.  
"So, are you gonna show me how I can get in here or do I have to use the air ducts again next time?"


	31. Small Victories

Short one, inspired by a prompt on avengerkink at livejournal. Not what the poster of the prompt was looking for but I just LOVED the quote, so I grabbed it. ;)

* * *

**Small Victories**

Clint wasn't sure how they had arrived at this specific topic. Maybe because of the movie, "Invasion of the Body Snatchers", which had lead them to aliens, which, naturally, might have lead them to the Chitauri. Which somehow lead to Tony asking:

"Do you actually remember anything? I mean from before Tasha banged your head against the railing?"

From when Loki had mind-controlled him, of course. That was what Tony meant. It spoke volumes, Clint thought, that he wasn't asking more directly.  
Tasha glared at Tony and Steve frowned. Bruce put on a neutral expression. Thor straightened slightly.

"Plenty."  
Clint took a sip from his beer-bottle.  
"More than I care to remember, in fact."

Mostly, how everything had been tinted a very particular shade of blue. How he had silenced that tiny voice that tried to make itself heard, trying to tell him that he shouldn't be doing this, that something was off. It had been all too easy to drown it out in the blue.

Suddenly, Clint smiled.  
"One thing in particular."

* * *

He stood at attention while Loki slowly circled him. Waiting for his new boss to tell him what to do next. What was expected of him.  
Loki stopped behind him. Clint felt him move closer. Felt hands on his shoulders, a face close to his left ear.

"I will be the first man to kiss you, to bed you", Loki whispered, "whether you come willingly or not, you will be mine and mine alone. Do you understand?"

* * *

Clint looked at the others. They were waiting for him to continue with bated breath. He took a moment to take in the various expressions. Banner's was still neutral though now, he looked like it took him some effort to maintain it. The look on Thor's face matched that on Steve's: part sick, part disgusted, part furious. Tasha, of course, was too disciplined to show openly what she thought or felt. Her eyes, though, told Clint only too clearly what she would do – well, try to do – to Loki the next time she met him. Tony just looked curious.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Stark!"  
Steve glared at him.

"I don't think Clint wants to tell us."

"I think he does. If he didn't, he wouldn't have started this."  
Tony nodded at Clint.  
"What happened next?"

Clint shrugged.  
"Well, what do you think?"  
He took another sip from his bottle.  
"I told him: 'Sorry sir, but you're quite a few years too late for that.'"

He really had. He wasn't making it up.

A moment of absolute silence.  
Then, Thor threw back his head and roared with laughter. The others joined in.

Clint smiled. True, it had been only a small victory. Still, the look on Loki's face and his hasty retreat when he had realized his archer wasn't only referring to women were the only things about that whole disaster Clint actually liked to remember.


	32. Bite the Bullet

Warning: "I got low. I didn't see an end, so I put a bullet in my mouth... and the other guy spit it out!" – quoted from the Avengers movie. Well, being the person I am, that one got me thinking ... So, if that quote (it's Banner who says that, of course)and what it implies unsettles you, you better skip this one. Seriously.

* * *

**Bite the Bullet**

Smoke. Blood. Voices, someone being punched, grunting in pain.

Bruce struggled to awareness.

He opened his eyes, blinked several times to clear his vision. The blurred patches of colour turned into people. The Hawk, on the ground, face smeared with blood. Four men pinning him down. A fifth one looming over him, holding – Bruce wasn't quite sure what it was but he heard what that guy said.

"Let's see if you'll manage to use that bow of yours with just one arm."

_Damn._

Bruce felt the Other Guy stir but too slow. He cast a look around. It caught on something black, gleaming, about an arm's length away from him. Barton's gun. Bruce struggled to his hands and knees, grabbed the gun, tried to get to his feet and almost fell down again when the world suddenly tilted sideways.

"Stop."

Not loud enough.

The man lifted whatever he was carrying while one of the other four forced Barton's left arm sideways. The archer was struggling so hard Bruce would have sworn he could hear his shoulder joint pop out of its socket.

He cleared his throat.

"Stop!"

He lifted the gun.

The fifth man lowered his weapon and turned to him. Barton, too, looked at him. Bruce thought he saw the archer shake his head but he wasn't sure since he had to concentrate on keeping his balance.

_Head injury. Definitely._

"What?"  
The fifth man took a step towards him.  
"You wanna shoot me? You think –"

"No", Bruce cut him off. "Not you."

The Other Guy was still trying to get his bearings. He would be here, in a little while. But Bruce needed him here right now.

He smiled and turned the gun on himself. Another deep breath –

_What if it goes wrong?_

- then he opened his mouth, bit down hard on the gun's muzzle and pulled the trigger.

Someone shouted "Fuck!"

The world went green.

* * *

He awoke again to a splitting headache and that typical hospital-smell. Only that they would never take him to a normal hospital.

_SHIELD._

Bruce forced his eyes open. The lights were dimmed, fortunately, so it wasn't too bad. Except that he was in some SHIELD facility.

He started to sit up.

"I wouldn't if I were you."

Barton's voice, from his right.

Bruce turned his head.

The archer was sitting on a chair by his bedside. He didn't exactly look like someone who ought to be out of bed. Of course, Bruce saw only the cuts and bruises on his face but there probably were more than those. Also, Barton's right eye was swollen shut and his left arm rested in a sling.

He still managed to glare.

"How's your head?" he asked.

"Still in one piece."  
Bruce smiled.

The archer didn't.

A thought struck Bruce.  
"I didn't – I mean, did I -?"

The Other Guy would have been out of control, of course. Not making any difference between friend and foe. Smashing whoever didn't get out of his way fast enough. And even those who did.

"Don't you ever pull such a stunt again", Barton cut him off. "Not ever, got it?"

_I did this. Good heavens, I could have killed him!_

"I'm sorry."  
He looked away, at the clean white sheet covering him.  
"I knew the Other Guy would be out of control but –"

"Never mind that, this isn't about the Big Guy."

"No?"  
Bruce looked up again, surprised.

"Nope. I'm getting along fine with him. It's about you."  
Barton's glare softened a bit.  
"I mean – what if it wouldn't have worked?"

"But I already did this, several years ago, and it worked."

Not as he had intended it to work, back then, because he hadn't expected the Other Guy to spit out the bullet he had put in his mouth. He wasn't going to tell the archer that, though.

"Yeah, well, you're more in control of the Big Guy now than you were back then, right?"

Bruce couldn't deny that. Still –

"That's true, but he still tends to show up unbidden when I'm running danger of being harmed. Besides," he quickly went on before Barton could interrupt him again, "that guy was about to – I don't know, cut off your arm or something."

The archer sighed. His glare vanished.

"I know but – let me tell you the same thing I told Tony a while ago: I can live without my arm. But I somehow doubt you can live without your brains, so no more trying to blow them out, okay? Even if it works out alright because the Big Guy makes an appearance – it's just not something I'd care to ever see again."

What else could Bruce do but nod?

"Good."  
Barton finally smiled at him.  
"And now, let's see if I can manage to get back to my own bed before Doc Brown catches me ..."


	33. I don't know if I'm Good or Bad

Ok, this one took waaaaay too long to be finished. I'm sorry for the delay. Only excuse I got is that life's kept me quite busy. And that I've also started working on another short story with Hawkeye and Black Widow. Just a little bit of fun to tie "Iron Man 2" and "Thor" together. That one's still gonna take a while but I hope I'll be able to finish and post it soon. In the meantime, this one here came up. Enjoy!

* * *

**I don't know if I'm Good or Bad but at least, I'm not Ugly**

Clint was surprised to find he wasn't the only one to be up at half past three in the morning. When he saw it was Tony, standing by the window with a glass of something in his hand, he wasn't so surprised anymore.

He made sure Tony could see his reflection in the window as he approached him.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

Stupid question, of course, since the answer was pretty obvious. But he had to start somewhere, right? And besides, Tony's answer would show him what kind of mood he was in.

Tony shrugged and took a sip from his glass. Whisky-glass, Clint noticed. Clear liquid.  
He frowned.  
"I really hope you haven't been into Tasha's vodka, cos –"

"It's water."  
Tony didn't sound particularly annoyed. He didn't sound particularly anything, in fact, which was kinda worrying. Of course, Clint knew by now that Tony's usual behaviour was only about two parts his real self and one part mask. Not so unusual. Everyone was wearing masks all the time, chose more or less carefully what he wanted others to see. Usually, though, Tony was more careful not to let it slip.

Clint stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited. Most of the time, when you said nothing, people felt compelled to fill the silence with words. At first, it didn't seem to work. Tony just stood there, slowly sipping his water. Clint remained as he was. He was used to waiting. Sometimes even in plain sight of his target.

"Look at them", Tony said suddenly. "It's been almost a year and they're still repairing the damage."  
He nodded at the city below.

Clint shrugged.  
"The Chitauri gave the city a proper smashing. And the Hulk, too, but don't tell Bruce I said that."  
He flashed a smile at Tony that was completely lost to the man.  
So he added: "It takes time to repair that kind of damage."

"Obviously."  
Tony lifted his glass to drink, saw that it was empty and lowered it again.

Seconds ticked by, turned into minutes.

Clint waited.

"Almost a year and there's still nights when I wake up and can't go back to sleep", Tony finally said.

Clint made a sound that was somewhere between a huff and a laugh. Tony gave him a curious look.  
"Almost a year and sometimes, I still wake up in the middle of the night and run to the bathroom to check whether my eyes got their proper colour."

Clint hated those nights. He hated those dreams where everything was tinged blue because they felt just like he had felt while he had been controlled by Loki. Like being caught in a dream and knowing something was off although you couldn't quite put your finger on it.  
This was one of those nights, in fact.

"As I said – it takes time to repair that kind of damage."

"Except that sometimes, you can't repair it."  
Tony turned back to the window.  
"I dream that I'm falling", he said. "Suit's out of power, I can't move, I can't breathe and I'm falling. And I know: That's it. That's the end."

"You saved a lot of lives, that day", Clint pointed out.

"Yes, but that – it wasn't –"  
Tony looked at him.  
"I'm not like that. I'm not the kind of person to happily risk or sacrifice their life to save others. I'm not like you guys."

"Who?"  
Clint raised his eyebrows.  
"Oh, you mean like this guy who spent years killing the wrong kind of people and now, is trying to make up for it by killing the right kind of people?"

Tony glared at him.  
"You know what I mean. I'm not a hero. I mean, not so many years ago, I was still designing weapons that killed – I don't know how many people. Quite a few more than you did in your life, I dare say."

Clint sighed. Of course he had to play that same old card again.  
"Right, let me tell you something. I've seen plenty of things in my life. Maybe more than I should. Enough to be able to say I've seen them all – the good, the bad and the ugly. And you, my friend, might not be a hero – not any more so than me or Tasha or Bruce, anyways – but you're definitely not one of the bad guys, either. And since you're not exactly ugly ..."  
He shrugged.

"I'm one of the good guys?" Tony asked.  
He wasn't smiling but the corners of his mouth curled slightly upwards.

"Well, you know what Sherlock Holmes said. When you rule out the impossible ..."

"But –" Tony started.

Clint raised his hand to cut him off.  
"No 'buts'. We all make mistakes. I did, you did – even Fury made a few in his time. The important thing is: You're trying to make up for it. And as far as I'm concerned, you're doing it just fine."

Tony looked down at his glass.  
"I'd drink to that, but ..."

Clint smiled.  
"It's too early for that."

"Right."  
Tony nodded his chin at the living area.  
"Bob Ross, then?"

Clint frowned.  
"Bob Ross?"

"Yes, the painting guy. You know, the one who paints a picture in half an hour. I always watch him when I can't sleep. That show's kinda – soothing, I guess."  
Tony frowned now, too.  
"Must be his way of talking. And he's living in such a happy little world. Happy little trees and bushes and clouds all around."

Clint laughed.  
"Yeah, I know who Bob Ross is. I'm just surprised you do. It's not exactly the kind of show I'd expect you to watch."  
He grew serious again.  
"You are aware that guy used to be US Air Force, aren't you?"

Tony huffed.  
"I'm sure there's some kind of analogy in that but it's way too early to go looking for it."  
He turned and started towards the living area.  
"C'mon, I think it's 'Desert Glow' today – that's one of my favourites. Always reminds me of those old John Wayne movies."

"How do you know?" Clint asked.

"They're showing the episodes in order and I saw the one three nights ago."  
Tony switched on the large plasma TV and flopped down on the couch.

Shaking his head, Clint followed him. He knew better than to challenge Tony on this.

* * *

He must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing he knew was that it was bright day outside and Tasha was standing next to him, using her phone to snap a picture of Tony who was draped over the other end of the couch, snoring and drooling from a corner of his open mouth.

"Blackmail material", she told him with a smirk.

Which made Clint wonder whether she had any "blackmail material" of him, too. She probably did. She was the Black Widow, after all.


	34. Drive My Car – Well, Yours, Actually

Somehow, I couldn't get that car out of my mind. The one Hawkeye and Black Widow get into at the end of the Avengers movie. Okay, yeah, so it was probably from SHIELD's vehicle pool or something. But I guess Clint's got his own car. Well, you'll see where this is going in the next part, which, hopefully, I'll finish soon.

* * *

**Drive My Car – Well, Yours, Actually ...**

It all started innocently enough.

"Hey, Feathers."  
Tony leaned on the kitchen counter where Clint was just preparing breakfast.  
"I wondered whether I may borrow your car."

Maybe it was because it had been a long night and he wasn't properly awake, yet. The request should have rung several alarm-bells all at once – after all, Tony Stark owned more than one car and they were all newer and faster than Clint's – but it didn't. And so, Clint said: "Sure. Key's in –"

"Oh, I don't need the key. Just the car."  
Tony hurried away.

Clint looked after him with a frown.

It didn't dawn on him something might be wrong until about half an hour later, when Tony didn't show up for breakfast – nor did Bruce but that wasn't so unusual, so Clint thought nothing of it – and Tasha pointed out that lending your car to Tony Stark was a pretty stupid idea because you never knew what he might turn it into.

"Didn't you name it?" she asked. "Something like – what was it? Christobel?"

"Christine."  
Just for the fun of it, after seeing that horror movie.  
Clint put down his coffe-mug.  
"Please excuse me", he said, getting up from the table. "I think I should – err, ask Tony if he doesn't want to join us."  
In his hurry to get down to the garage, he completely missed the smile Tasha exchanged with Steve.

* * *

It was gone. His car was gone – it was unmistakably not there anymore. Clint knew it immediately because Christine kinda stuck out between all the shiny, new, well-kept Stark-cars and Steve's motorcycle. Unlike the other cars here, Christine had seen her share of action. Long road-trips. Standing outside day and night, by sunshine and rain, until Clint had finally found a spot in SHIELD's vast garage where he could put her. He never would have admitted it but he was kinda fond of that car. Christine had been the first thing he had bought from the money he'd earned with SHIELD. Yes, okay, so she had seen better times and maybe it was about time to replace her with a newer model but –

"Tony Stark, I swear if you mess her up, I'll kick your butt from here to Morocco", Clint muttered under his breath while he rushed back to the elevator.

He pressed the call-button repeatedly until, finally, the doors slid open to admit him.

He tried to remain calm while the elevator slowly crept upwards, to the floor that held Tony's workshop. It seemed to take longer than usual. Much longer. When the doors finally opened again, Clint hurled down the corridor like Jack sprung from his box – and was headed off by Bruce just before he reached the workshop.

"Sorry, can't let you through."

Clint tried to push past him.  
"You're in on this?" he asked. "What are you doing to my car?"

Bruce held him back.  
"Calm down", he said in his usual toned-down manner. "Your car's gonna be fine."

"Yeah, sure."  
Clint craned his neck even though he knew it was absolutely impossible to see into the lab from here.  
"Tony!" he called. "Get your ass out here and explain this to me, will you?"

Tony indeed did poke his head out of the workshop.  
"He's right", he said. "We just needed a – test subject to try out some improvements I've come up with."

"Test subject?"  
Clint didn't manage to keep the alarm out of his voice.

"Relax, Feathers. If this doesn't work out, I'll buy you a new one."

"I don't want a new car. If I wanted a new car, I could have bought one myself years ago."  
Clint again tried to break free of Bruce's grip. To no avail, though, since he didn't want to kick or hit the man and accidentally bring out the Hulk.

"It's gonna be alright. Trust me", Tony said.

"Trust the guy who thought it would be a good idea to see how much Asgardian mead he could drink before passing out?" Clint asked incredulously.

"Trust the guy who built those suits."  
Tony nodded down the corridor towards the area where he had put up all his Iron Man suits for display.

Clint couldn't argue with that.  
"Okay. Fine."  
He raised his hands as a sign of defeat. Bruce let him go and took a step back.  
"If you mess her up, though, you better be watching your backs for the rest of your lives."  
Clint glared at Bruce.  
"The Hulk, too."

"Will do, Feathers. C'mon, Big Green, time to get working."  
Tony's head disappeared in the workshop again.

Bruce shrugged in that "well, you know him" way.

"Yeah, yeah."  
Clint sighed.

Looked like there was nothing he could do to get his car back, short of breaking into Tony's workshop. And that was impossible. Security on the workshop was tighter than on Fort Knox. He had tried to get in back in his first week here in Avengers Tower – just to see if he could do it. The answer was: No, not even with a little help from Tasha.

Maybe he should start looking for a new car ...


	35. Christine v2

**Sorry this one took so long. I'm working on several stories at once right at the moment and they kinda - well, keep blocking out each other. But I still hope I'll finish the other two within reasonable time. Anyways - enjoy!**

* * *

**Christine 2.0**

One week passed, then another one. Tony missed almost every single meal. Bruce showed up more frequently but no matter what trick Clint used - and he knew a few - he wouldn't talk about what was going on in Tony's workshop. Clint tried to recruit Tasha's help but she outright refused, telling him that whatever was happening to his car was his own fault for being stupid enough to let Stark get his hands on it.

He did manage to hack into the Tower's security system. Since he wasn't anywhere near as good as Tasha at that kind of thing, however, he only caught a glimpse of the workshop before Jarvis told him politely but firmly that he was to log out of the security system at once or suffer the consequences. Knowing Tony, that probably meant that some strange, mysterious accident would happen to Clint's bow, so Clint decided to cooperate. Besides, he had seen quite enough to know he better start looking for a new car.

Christine had been in pieces. Well, as far as he'd been able to see. Basically, just an empty shell. No seats, no tires, the engine had been ripped out, too … He so was gonna get Tony for this. He just wasn't sure, yet, what exactly to do to the man but he was sure he would come up with something, sooner or later. He was used to waiting.

* * *

Three days later, he got a message from Jarvis that Tony wanted him in his workshop. About Christine, no doubt.

Clint considered refusing. Chances were that Tony and Bruce hadn't managed to put his car back together again and he really could do without seeing it in pieces again.

On the other hand - what better opportunity to see the genius-playboy-billionaire-philanthropist squirm? It didn't happen all too often. It was almost worth losing his car. Almost.

* * *

When Clint entered the workshop, he found Tony and Bruce standing on either side of what obviously was Christine, covered with a silvery kind of sheet. The kind he had seen covering new car-types when they were presented to the public for the first time.

Tasha, Steve and Thor were there, too, hovering in the background.

Clint frowned.  
"You were all in on this?" he asked.

Tasha just raised her eyebrows. Thor smiled while both Tony and Bruce were beaming brighter than the sun on a spring morning. Only Steve had the grace to shift a little on his feet and look away.

Clint glared at the group and folded his arms across his chest.  
"You do realize you owe me a new car, right?"

"Oh, we'll get you one", Tony said with a big grin. "But only if you're really, really sure you don't want the old one back."

And with that, he pulled the sheet off the car.

Clint dropped his arms and stared.

This couldn't be his car.

Right, so it was the same model as Christine, that much he could see. And the license plates were the same - albeit cleaned - but Christine had never ever looked like this, not even when he gave her a thorough cleaning. This car here was all black and shiny, with a broad purple streak running along the side.

"As you can see, we gave her a complete make-over", Tony went on. "New finish, new tyres, new interior."

"Why don't you take a closer look?" Bruce suggested.

And since it was Bruce, Clint did indeed step closer. Because he really wanted to get a good look at the new seats he could barely make out from where he was standing. They looked like leather.

Suddenly, the car's headlights flashed - like they would if you unlocked a car with one of those keyless remotes.

Clint jumped back a step. And jumped even more, when there was a voice, coming from the car.

"Good morning, Mr. Barton. It's a real pleasure to finally meet you. If you allow me to say so - I'm your biggest fan."

Absolute, complete silence followed this short speech. The only thing to be heard were six people breathing.

Clint blinked.  
"Uh, Tony ..."

"Yes?"

"Why does my car sound like that psycho from 'Misery'?"

Tony nudged Bruce in the side.  
"Told you he'd recognize the voice."

Clint glared at him.

Tony grew serious again - well, as serious as he was going to get under these circumstances.  
"She sounds like Annie Wilkes because Christine the car doesn't have a voice of her own and so, we asked Kathy Bates to do the voice-recordings for Christine."

"Voice-recordings. For a car."  
Clint looked from Tony to the car and back to Tony.

Tony nodded.  
"You see, the idea was to try to build another K.I.T.T. - you do know 'Knight Rider', don't you?"

"Yeah. That show with - the talking car that could do all kinds of things."  
Clint stared at his car.  
"You're not saying she can do all those things, are you?"

Tony laughed.  
"Of course she can. That and more."  
He stepped around the car.  
"She can go on auto-pilot, she's bullet-proof - the tyres as well - she's got a stealth mode …"

"She can learn", Bruce added. "Just like Jarvis."

"And she's programmed to recognize you so that it's impossible to steal her", Tony went on. "Or borrow her. You can add a list of persons who got your permission to drive her, though."

Clint didn't know what to say. "Holy shit!" didn't seem entirely appropriate. He finally settled for one single word.

"Why?"

Tony shrugged.  
"Well, I don't do birthday cards, so -"

"Yes, it's gotta be more spectacular than that with you, right?"  
Bruce laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Nothing wrong with spectacular", Tony countered. "Right, Feathers?"

"Just a moment." Clint was still stuck on Tony's answer. "What do you mean, you don't do birthday cards?"

"Just that: I don't do birthday cards. I prefer giving people presents."  
Tony frowned.  
"C'mon, Feathers, don't tell me you forgot."

"Forgot what?" Clint asked.

"Forgot your own birthday!"

"Oh."  
Clint blinked.  
"That's - today? Really?"

He wasn't used to celebrating his birthday. Or even remembering it. It never had seemed particularly important.

Tasha smirked at Tony.  
"See? Told you so."

Tony shook his head.  
"Really, Feathers …"


	36. Normal's the New Crazy

Ever wonder what our two super-assassins are doing when they're not working? :D

* * *

**Normal's the New Crazy**

At some point, Tony didn't know exactly when, it had become quite normal to see the Hawk in the kitchen, preparing food. Especially breakfast. That guy obviously always got up early. Tony wasn't surprised to find out that Clint liked to go running before breakfast and that, sometimes, Captain Prim 'n' Proper joined him. Of course, you had to keep fit when you were working for SHIELD. And running was a good way to start the day. When you weren't Tony Stark.

What really threw him, what he, the genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist hadn't seen coming, was Romanoff doing the dishes. Tony stared at her. She arched an eyebrow at him and gave him The Look, so he decided not to ask. He decided, in fact, that he must have been hallucinating – the infamous Black Widow doing the dishes? C'mon! – and didn't mention it to anyone. He also made a mental note to check his liquor cabinet to see whether anyone had maybe spiked his Scotch with – well, something.

He was pretty sure he wasn't hallucinating, though, when Pepper invited Tasha to join her for a "girls' day out" and they returned in the evening, packed with bags from various store that he was pretty sure didn't sell any kinds of deadly weapons, merrily chatting with each other.

He walked up to the two women.  
"Alright, who are you and what have you done to Agent Romanoff?" he asked.

Tasha looked at him as if he were some kind of curious insect.

Pepper just shook her head.

Then, they resumed their chatting – and digging around bags – and completely ignored him.

* * *

And then came the day when Tony found the two super-spies and master assassins not exactly cuddling on the couch watching American Idol.

"Okay. Right. That's it."  
He stepped between the two and the TV screen and folded his arms across his chest.  
"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.

"Hey!"  
Clint craned his neck, trying to look past him.  
"Would you mind? We're watching that."

"Yes, exactly – that's just what I'm saying. You –"  
Tony pointed at Clint and Tasha.  
"- are watching _that_!"  
He turned and pointed at the TV.

The other two exchanged a look – one of those looks that told him some silent communication was taking place between them. Tasha raised her eyebrows. Clint shrugged.

"So?" he said, looking up at Tony.

"So – you cooking. Okay. That might just be some kind of – of – I don't know, spy-paranoia or something. Making sure no one poisons your food."  
Clint opened his mouth to say something but Tony cut him off.  
"Her doing the dishes – well, I probably was drunk or drugged or whatever."

Tasha's gaze took on a slightly amused quality but she remained silent.

"And going shopping with Pepper obviously can be put down to practicing to behave inconspicuously. Like a normal person. But this here –"  
Again, Tony waved a hand at the TV.

Clint took in a deep breath.  
"Okay, first of all: I like cooking. I originally learned it because of those SHIELD field rations. I don't like them, Tasha doesn't like them and since she couldn't dress a salad to save her life, it was up to me."

Tasha nodded.

"As for the rest:" Clint went on, "we're still normal people, right? Well, as normal as you get to be when you're part of the Avengers Initiative or working for SHIELD ..."

"Don't tell me you're the kind of normal people who would willingly watch this crap."  
Tony glared at him.

Clint laughed and Tasha definitely looked amused no.

"Yeah, well, you know, sometimes you just gotta go crazy. Do some crazy stuff, right? I'm sure you know that feeling."

Tony nodded.

"So, what do people do when they wanna go crazy?" Clint asked.

Tony shrugged.

"Dunno. Bungee Jumping? Skydiving? Drive in the Grand Prix in Monte Carlo?"

"Yes, well, we get to do that kind of stuff all the time"", Clint told him. "So if we wanna go crazy –"

Tony, of course, immediately got it.  
"- you do normal stuff. Like doing the dishes or going shopping."

"Exactly."  
Clint nodded.  
"Now, would you please move out of the way or do I have to take more drastic measures than asking nicely?"

Tony raised his hands and left, satisfied to know that neither was he going mad, nor had their two resident assassins been replaced by doppelgangers.


	37. Aaaand – Action!

Right, since I feel like celebrating today - I passed 150 followers, 100 favourites, 100 reviews and 50,000 visits with this story this weekend, so, yay! - I'm posting this chapter sooner than planned. Inspired by my Hot Toys Hawkeye. *grin* Enjoy! And thank you so much for your continuing interest in this story! You're awesome! *group hugs*

* * *

**Aaaand – Action!**

Tony handed Bruce the large bowl of popcorn, grabbed the remote and plopped down on the couch.  
"Ready to get started?" he asked.

The others – Steve, Tasha and Thor – nodded.

"Isn't Clint coming?"  
Bruce turned around, looking for the archer.

"Feathers?" Tony shook his head. "Nah. He's in his room, playing with his little Hawkeye."

He got a glare from Tasha, a disapproving frown from Thor and Steve almost choked on a mouthful of beer he'd been drinking. Bruce only rolled his eyes.

"What?"  
Tony looked from one to the other.  
"I checked on him ten minutes ago and he was really busy. I don't think he's finished –"

"Tony!" Steve cut him off. "That's more detail than we needed."

Tony frowned.  
"I really don't get it. Why are you making such a fuss about Feathers playing with his little –"

A cushion hit him square in the face with quite some force.

"Hey!"

"Will you shut up about Clint now and start the movie?" Tasha almost snarled at him.

Steve, Tony noticed, had blushed a really pretty shade of pink, Thor was still fixing him with a disapproving look and Bruce was making a point of studying the DVD's cover text.

_What the – oh. That's what they're thinking I said._

Tony folded his arms across his chest and glared right back at Tasha. And the others.  
"You dirty-minded lot. Really, just because I usually mean exactly what you think I mean that doesn't mean it's also true for Feathers and his little Hawkeye."

"What about my little Hawkeye?" Clint suddenly asked from behind him.

Tony bent his head and twisted his neck until he could see him – upside down.  
"Help me out here, Feathers, and show them your little Hawkeye, will you?"  
Another cushion hit him in the stomach.  
He righted himself.  
"Would you stop that? It's movie time, not 'Let's use Tony for target practice' time."

"We don't want to see Clint's little Hawkeye", Steve told him with a stern look.

"Why not?" Clint asked. "I was gonna show you anyways. Gimme a minute."

Steve straightened in alarm and even Bruce looked up from the DVD cover now.

"You don't have to –" Steve started.  
And stopped, puzzled, when Clint left.  
"Where's he going?"

Tony grinned.  
"Getting his little Hawkeye ready for the show."

He raised his arms when Tasha reached over Steve to grab another cushion.  
"What did I say? No more throwing! Cap, take that thing away from her!"

Steve did – only to throw the cushion at him.  
"I can do very well without seeing his little Hawkeye", he hissed.

"Aw, don't say that."  
Tony gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look.  
"It'll look fabulous next to little Captain America."

Steve's cheeks went several shades pinker.

From the corner of his eye, Tony saw that Bruce tried hard not to grin. Tasha just rolled her eyes.

Steve opened his mouth to say more but just then, Clint returned.

"There, little Hawkeye", he said and showed them what he was holding.  
"Or, as I call him, Mini Me. How do you like him?"  
He beamed at them.

The others stared at the twelve inch action figure in his hand. Well, except for Tony, who was grinning. And Bruce wasn't exactly staring, either. Rather looking like he was about to start laughing.

Tony thought he heard him murmur: "Dirty-minded lot indeed."

The action figure indeed bore a striking resemblance to the archer. So much so even that it looked almost creepily like its proud owner, right down to the clothes – made of real fabric – the glare and the mini-sunglasses.

"He's got a bow and arrows, too, and believe it or not, you can actually shoot them from the bow", Clint told them.

Tony folded his arms across his chest and pointedly looked at the others.  
"Well?" he asked.

"Well what?" Steve asked back.

"Well, I guess you two owe me an apology. Thor doesn't since he's not from round here so, of course, he couldn't know and Bruce doesn't – well, he seems to have got this right from the start and."

Bruce glanced at him and grinned.

* * *

Steve and Tasha did apologize eventually.

Two days later, Fury sent Tony a memo, though, telling him that he wasn't allowed to buy any Avengers action figures. Or play with any Avengers action figures anyone else might own. Especially not Black Widow.

Which, of course, wasn't going to stop him ...


	38. Warrior Prince(ss)

Short one, this time. 'Fess up: Who else used to watch that show - and loved it? :D

* * *

**Warrior Prince(ss)**

Clint reached back for another arrow. His hand closed around thin air. He cursed softly. Looked like it was time to go hand to hand against the remaining – he decided to call them robots. Probably the wrong term, technically, but then, it didn't matter what exactly they were as long as he managed to put them down, right?

Before he scrambled down from his vantage point, Clint took a moment to survey the situation.

Stark and Thor were fighting up in the air – yes, some of those buggers actually could fly. Rogers and Tasha were down on the ground, back to back, surrounded by several enemies. And the Hulk – well, he was causing as much damage as always, and not only to their adversaries, but that was hardly news. Clint could hear him roar somewhere in the near distance.

It looked like Tasha and Steve were the ones who could use another pair of hands – they definitely had theirs full. So Clint moved over to them. While he was still on the move, Rogers was taken down by a blow to his head. He went down like a felled tree. Lucky hit for the robot that had scored it.

Clint cursed again, loudly this time, and jumped over the rubble on the ground. There were only five of the robots surrounding Tasha – nothing she couldn't handle – but from the corner of his eye, he saw another four come rushing to her.

He needed to intercept them and take them out before they reached her. She was good – but not that good.

He needed a weapon, a ranged one. He needed –

He stepped on something that made a metallic sound.

Clint stopped. Looked down.

Steve's shield.

Without thinking, he picked it up and turned to the four robots that were approaching Tasha. he did a quick calculation and then, threw the shield.

It glanced off an exposed steel beam, hit the first and second robot in the backs of their heads, bounced off another wall and hit number three and four with enough force to disable them, too. And then, returned to Clint's still-raised hand.

He spun round to Tasha who, meanwhile, had dealt with three of the other five robots. Steve was coming round again, too, slowly sitting up and blinking.

"Watch out!"  
Clint threw the shield again, knocking out one of the two robots that had been about to attack Steve from behind. This time, the shield didn't return to him because Steve stuck out his hand and caught it in mid-air while getting up.

"Thanks."

And that, obviously, was the end of the fight, because only a moment later, Thor and Stark joined them. Tony slid back his faceplate. He was grinning.

"Saw what you did there, Feathers", he said. "I got it all recorded."  
He tapped his finger against the side of his helmet.

Clint glared at him.  
"I swear if you or anyone else starts calling me Xena, they'll die a slow, painful death."

Tony's grin broadened.

"How did you do that?" Thor asked. "Did you put an enchantment on the shield so it would return to your hand?"  
He seemed clearly intrigued.

Clint shrugged.  
"Nothing special, really. All about angles and trajectories. I'm good with that kind of stuff, just in case you didn't notice."


	39. Who Killed The Mockingbird?

So sorry it took me so long to update! This chapter - and the following one - has been sitting on my harddrive for a while, in fact. Just didn't get to posting it cos, after seeing "Iron Man 3", I got distracted (ooooh, shinies!). After the next chapter, I won't be updating this story here for a while cos I'm working on a longer story set after "Iron Man 3". Just to give you a warning. Also, as of "Iron Man 3", feel free to consider this scene-collection here AU.

* * *

**Who Killed The Mockingbird?**

When Fury strode out of the elevator with a thin folder in his hand and a grim look on his face, Tony's first impulse was to deny everything. A moment later, he remembered that he hadn't actually done anything that would have brought the wrath of SHIELD's director upon him.

Well, not recently.

Come to think of it, it was high time he tried to hack into SHIELD's mainframe again to find – something. Whatever. They probably had come up with a few new security gaps since he last had done so.

Fury stopped right before him and scowled at him. He did that really well. Probably practiced it in front of a mirror for half an hour every morning.

"Don't even think of it, Stark. – Where is he?"

"Who?" Tony asked. "Say, when exactly did you learn how to read minds?"

"Barton. And as for you – it doesn't matter what you think, it's always a bad idea."

Tony shook his head.  
"And I thought we were starting to get along. – Clint's –"  
He stopped since the archer chose that exact moment to enter the room and merely pointed at him.

"Barton."  
Fury stepped over to him.  
"Got a new mission for you."

He lifted the folder he was holding. Tony considered leaving. This obviously was SHIELD business. On the other hand, he was curious and besides, if it were a secret mission, Fury would have told him to beat it the moment he arrived, wouldn't he? Never mind this was his tower and thus, he ought to be the one who had a say in who stayed and who left.

Clint glanced at the folder and frowned.  
"Why didn't you just call? Or order me back to HQ?" he asked

"This one's special."  
If Tony hadn't known any better, he would have sworn Fury hesitated for a split-second.  
"Remember what Coulson promised you when you joined SHIELD?"

Clint nodded.

Tony thought he saw just the tiniest hint of wariness in the man's eyes.

"We found him."  
Fury held out the folder to the archer.  
"The one who killed her. He should be able to tell you who hired him to do it."

Tony didn't have to ask – not that he would have. This was indeed special. He knew from what Clint hat told him not that long ago that Fury was referring to Clint's wife who had been killed by one of his former clients. Or so the archer had always assumed. Now, he finally had confirmation. And a name.

The changes were subtle but Tony still spotted them. As, he guessed, did Fury.

The archer stiffened slightly. The muscles in his jaw clenched. Most noticeable were his eyes. They went cold. A winter's day in Siberia would have seemed warm by comparison.

"When do I leave?" Clint asked.

His voice was completely level. Tony admired the man for his self-control. Had he been in the archer's place – had Pepper been killed and her murderer been found – he, Tony Stark, would probably have been howling and raging and screaming before tearing that bastard apart limb by limb.

Well, in theory.

In reality, he most likely would be too stunned to do anything at all. A world without Pepper – unthinkable.

"Whenever you're ready", Fury told the archer and handed him the folder.  
"You're leaving from here."

Clint nodded.  
"I'll be off in an hour, then", he said and turned to leave.

Again, Tony could have sworn Fury hesitated for just a moment.

"Do whatever you gotta do, Hawk, but – be careful. This isn't an official mission, so if anything goes wrong –"

"I'll be on my own", Clint finished.

"Well, there won't be any backup from SHIELD, but –"  
Fury glanced at Tony who gave him the tiniest of nods. If Clint ran into trouble, they would be there.

* * *

When Clint entered the hangar an hour later, dressed in what he called his "mission gear", bow in hand and his quiver slung over his shoulder, he found Stark waiting for him. The man was leaning against the Quinjet trying to look casual.

Clint shook his head.  
"Forget it, Tony, I'm not taking you on this one."

"Oh, I wasn't gonna ask, don't worry. This one's yours – and yours alone. I just wanted to give you something."  
He took something from his back-pocket and tossed it at Clint who caught it.

Clint frowned in confusion.  
"Your phone? What, you want me to call you every twelve hours or what?"

"Nope. It's one of a kind, so you better bring it back to me undamaged – unless, of course, you wanna get your ass kicked all across the five continents and every known world other than this one."  
Stark moved closer.  
"See that small button on the screen? With the J on it?" he asked.

Clint nodded.

"If you run into trouble, press it. It opens a direct connection to Jarvis, so he can tell us where you are."

Clint nodded again and slipped the phone into one of his many pockets.  
"Thanks", he said.

"Just try to come back in one piece, okay? Or at least, not any more pieces than we can put back together."  
Stark stepped away from him to allow him to access the Quinjet.

"Don't worry", Clint said. "I'll be back."

Stark grinned.  
"Arnold Schwarzenegger, 'The Terminator', 1984."

Clint rolled his eyes.  
"Really, Stark, trust you to spoil the moment."

Stark shrugged.  
"Hey, that's what I live for."


End file.
